Held Hostage
by pgrabia
Summary: A desperate Wilson takes matters in his own hands in a last-ditch effort to keep House from making a horrendous mistake.  SPOILERS up to & incl. 7x10. H/Cu est. to begin, later H/W preslash/slash. Warning: Coarse language, mild violence, expl. sexuality.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: ****Held Hostage**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy, random characters from canon and OCs/House/Cuddy established; House/Wilson Pre-slash/slash.

**A/N: **This story runs AU, what I would like to see happen if House and Cuddy should ever plan to get married. I'm sick of Huddy already—it's completely ruined the show—so if you like Huddy, then you'll hate this and you might as well move along to another fic. Also, I would like to give a big thank you to George Stark II for being my beta and making me sound good;)

**Genre:** Drama/Romance.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story involves spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season Seven, Ep. Ten.

**Word Count: **1766 including introduction.

**Rating: M (NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, violence, drug and alcohol use, and explicit sexuality.

**Chapter One**

House stood in front of the full-length mirror in the men's room, fiddling with his bow-tie even though Wilson had made certain that it was tied correctly just moments before. His brow was beaded with perspiration even though the air conditioning had the temperature set at sixty-eight. The slight tremor in his long fingers was barely noticeable except to the eye of his best friend. Instead of looking happy or at least satisfied, Dr. Gregory House looked like he was about to vomit all over the monkey suit Cuddy had forced him to wear.

"Stop fiddling with it," Wilson told him, slapping the diagnostician's hands away from the bow-tie. "It's fine. You look incredibly handsome—dashing in fact."

"Be careful, Wilson," House said to his best friend, his voice quavering ever so slightly. His attempt at giving the oncologist a smirk failed. "If anyone hears you they'll think you're trying to seduce me."

"Of course," Wilson replied wryly, checking his own bow tie in the mirror. "Because I've been harboring a secret crush on you for years and I'm choosing now, mere minutes before you marry the love of your life, to come out of the closet."

House tried to chuckle at that but it came out flat. Wilson stared at his friend contemplatively for a moment. For a man about to marry the woman he had pursued for years and had finally won, House looked every bit the lamb being led to slaughter. He knew that the weeks following his friend's impulsive proposal to Lisa Cuddy had been a living hell. Although House hadn't said so Wilson was pretty certain the older man had proposed to save their crumbling relationship from completely falling apart. It troubled the oncologist to think that the diagnostician was marrying a woman to save a pseudo-relationship that would have already been defunct if he hadn't proposed. He could only see House and Cuddy's marriage lasting a year—two at the most–before they both realized how huge a mistake they had made. Wilson wanted to spare his friend that kind of pain, a pain he himself knew all too well.

Wilson had kept quiet, though. House had made up his mind and there was no changing it. So the younger man played the good best friend and cheerleader even though every word of advice and encouragement was said through gritted teeth.

It was coming very close to being time.

"You have the ring, right?" House asked him, his blue eyes staring at him intensely. He was simply a nervous wreck. It pained Wilson to see him that way. His swaggering, egotistical, self-serving best friend had been reduced to a whimpering, simpering lap dog. It was wrong—so wrong. Was sleeping with Cuddy worth House losing his sense of self? How long could he go on living in constant fear of screwing up and angering her, even when she was the one in the wrong, and being punished for it?

"Yes, House. I have the ring," Wilson assured him calmly. He pulled it out of his tuxedo-jacket pocket and showed it to the groom-to-be. It was a startlingly exquisite white gold band with small diamonds set the entire way around. Wilson had been dragged out on a stormy night to help House pick out the bridal set. The engagement ring had an identical band with a one-and-a-half carat princess-cut diamond solitaire. Wilson now knew what all of House's money had really gone to all these years and decided that the diagnostician was buying his own lunches from now on.

"Just don't lose it," House told him, frowning slightly.

"I should be so lucky," Wilson muttered nearly under his breath as he returned the ring to his pocket.

"What was that?" House demanded.

"Don't worry about it," the oncologist told him. "I won't lose it. You need to calm down or else you're going to pass out before you need the ring."

"Did you see how many people she invited?" House grumbled, yanking irritably at his collar. "I told her 'small and intimate.' She goes and invites everyone in fucking New Jersey. I feel like an idiot in this thing. Who wears a blue tie and cummerbund with a black tux?"

"The groom marrying a woman whose mother took over the wedding planning and chose blue for the matron of honor and flower girl, that's who," Wilson told him, frowning just ever so slightly. "Get used to it, House. From now on you will have little or no say about what you wear again and your Mother-in-law will rule your roost."

"Like hell she will," House told him with certainty.

"House, Cuddy's already got you wearing a lab coat at the hospital," Wilson pointed out sarcastically. "You were ready to risk losing your job and career by not wearing one when Vogler was in charge. You didn't want to wear a tie, but you wear one at least three days a week since she cut you off for refusing outright. You didn't want to shave for this but she pouted and you relented. Trust me, she already has you whipped; but don't feel bad—it happens to the best of us. It's called marriage."

"You really think that she controls me, don't you?" House asked, narrowing his eyes.

"It doesn't matter what I think," Wilson told him, intending on sounding conciliatory but the words came out a touch resentful.

House paused, frowned, and shook his head. "Uh uh! You're not doing that—not now. If you have something to say, then just say it!"

Sighing, Wilson rubbed the back of his neck subconsciously. He mentally kicked himself for not being more careful. Instead of answering Wilson opened the front of his jacket and out of the inner pocket he pulled a small stainless steel flask.

"I think you need this to calm your nerves," he told his keyed-up friend. "You're looking for an argument where there isn't one because you're so anxious." He unscrewed the lid and put it to his own lips but before he could drink any House snatched it from his hand.

"House," Wilson asked quietly as the diagnostician drank greedily from the flask, "are you sure this is what you want to do? It's not too late to back out if you're having second thoughts, you know. Better to end it now than wait until after you say 'I do.' Trust me, I know."

Handing the flask back to Wilson (who promptly screwed the lid back on and returned it to his pocket), House explained to him, "I need this relationship, Wilson. I'm tired of being alone. I'm fifty-one years old and it's time I grew up…" House frowned and blinked several times, looking at Wilson questioningly. "I can't believe…I fell for this. Wils'n, why'd you…dose me…this…time?"

The taller man's eyes rolled up into his head as he collapsed into unconsciousness. Wilson caught him before he hit the floor and settled him down gently. His cane clattered on the tile floor beside him. Just a few moments later the washroom door opened a crack and a female voice called inside, "Is everyone covered up in there?"

"Yes, he's out cold!" Wilson hissed back. "Get in here!"

A lovely woman dressed in the same color blue as House's and Wilson's cummerbunds scurried into the washroom. She had similar coloring and features to Cuddy and a wedding band on her left hand.

"We have to hurry!" Lucinda, Cuddy's sister, told him quickly. "The Justice of the Peace has just arrived. My husband left the car outside, the motor running."

"Well, give me a hand!" Wilson told her irritably. "He's too big and heavy for me to carry him all by myself."

The matron of honor nodded, took a quick peek out the door, then came back and grabbed House's legs at the ankles while the best man hung the cane in the crook of his elbow and picked him up under the armpits.

"The coast is clear," she assured him as they struggled to get House's long body around a tight bend and out the swinging door. The back lobby was empty and the exit wasn't more than twenty feet away but it still took them a bit to shuffle step House through the open area and out the narrow fire-door that opened onto a back alley.

Wilson was relieved to see the car still there. Awkwardly they managed to get House into the front passenger's seat and did up his seat belt.

Wilson shut the passenger-side door. He was so glad he'd rented a car with tinted windows.

"Okay," Lucinda said, nearly panicking, "now get the hell out of here before someone catches us!"

"Right," Wilson said with a nod. "And no matter what, you saw the two of us being dragged out by men in black balaclavas holding guns. You got it?"

"I've got it, I got it!" she told him impatiently. "Now get out of here!"

"Thank you," Wilson told her earnestly.

The matron of honor shook her head, already heading back inside. "Don't thank me—you think I want that marrying my sister?" She disappeared behind the door before Wilson could respond. He shook his head and hurried around to the driver's side, hopping in. He started the car and then looked sideways at his drugged friend. House's head had flopped sideways away from Wilson; he looked so incredibly innocent and vulnerable that the oncologist couldn't resist caressing his cheek once.

"I hope you can forgive me for this, House," he told the unresponsive man, "but I'm doing this for your own good—and mine."

Wilson popped the clutch and hit the accelerator. The Mazda's tires squealed on the asphalt before it sped away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: ****Held Hostage**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy, random characters from canon and OCs/House/Cuddy established; House/Wilson Pre-slash/slash.

**A/N: **This story runs AU, what I would like to see happen if House and Cuddy should ever plan to get married. I'm sick of Huddy already—it's completely ruined the show—so if you like Huddy, then you'll hate this and you might as well move along to another fic.

**Also,** I want to give a big thank you to **George Stark II** for being my ever patient beta!

**Genre:** Drama/Romance.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story involves spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season Seven, Ep. Ten.

**Word Count: **1766 including introduction.

**Rating: M (NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, violence, drug and alcohol use, and explicit sexuality.

**Held Hostage**

**Chapter Two**

Screaming filled the air and all in attendance for the Cuddy/House wedding looked up in startled surprise as the matron of honor ran into the hotel ballroom crying and babbling something about "masked men," "guns" and "gone." The men in the room tried to calm Lucinda down long enough to find out what exactly she was babbling about.

Dr. Lisa Cuddy heard the commotion from the small antechamber where she was putting on the finishing touches to her make-up and making certain that her off-the-shoulder white silk evening gown and the small white flowers in her hair looked perfect in the full-length mirror. Her mother was there complaining that the florist hadn't gotten the bouquet right and bemoaning the fact that her daughter had chosen to walk down the aisle all by herself instead of being given away by her Uncle Louie, her late father's brother. Louie, God bless him, was a lush and although House had thought it would be great fun to watch him stagger down the aisle with the bride on his arm Cuddy hadn't.

Wanting to find out what the hell the ruckus was about that was interrupting the harpist's playing of the prelude, Cuddy started out of the antechamber and towards the ballroom when her mother caught her arm to hold her back.

"Where do you think you're going?" Arlene asked her daughter.

"Something is obviously wrong and I'm going to find out what it is," Cuddy answered, her grey eyes flashing in annoyance.

"Oh no you're not," her mother told her authoritatively. "You'll ruin the big entrance if the guests see you before the ceremony. Someone will come and tell us if it's anything to worry about. Now where is Lucinda? We can't begin without her."

"Mother, that is Lucinda doing the screaming," the bride insisted, her anxiety building. "Please let go of my arm." The Dean of Medicine didn't want to spoil her own thunder—after all, the wedding was all about the bride—but her need to ensure everything was under control and being properly taken care of was nearly overwhelming her. Aside from her first wedding—a 'let's find a judge and get us married' kind of affair that foreshadowed the six-day duration of the marriage—this was her big day, the one that came only once in a woman's lifetime, and she wanted everything to go off perfectly. Already there appeared to be a snag in the fabric and she wanted to make certain it didn't become a full-blown tear.

Everything before this commotion—all of the planning and preparations—had gone very smoothly, which had been a surprise, actually. Cuddy was marrying House, after all, and House seemed to bring with him commotion and mayhem, like a dust cloud following him, everywhere he went. However, after proposing to her House had taken a step back as far as the preparations were concerned, leaving the wedding details almost entirely up to her. His only conditions which he had refused to back down on (in spite of her mother's attempt to make him do so) were that the wedding be kept small and intimate and that it was secular; he was an atheist and had no intention of converting to Judaism simply for the aspect of 'community.' Therefore there was to be no rabbi or minister and it was not going to take place in a temple or church. Cuddy had agreed that those were reasonable conditions; her mother, on the other hand, had not and it had taken a great deal of effort on Cuddy's behalf to rein her mother in as best as she could. Small and intimate had become large and public but otherwise House's wishes had been respected.

Other than for that House had behaved himself and had avoided antagonizing or butting heads with his future mother-in-law. He had shown up for tux fittings where and when he had been told to, had attended the engagement party without too much of a hassle and had even forsaken the idea of a drunken, whore-and stripper-infested, orgiastic bachelor party when Cuddy had told him she didn't want him to attend one and show up at the wedding hungover and completely debauched. She hadn't trusted Wilson to throw a low-key celebration since the night shortly after the engagement party; he had taken out House for a—as in one, singular—drink and they had ended up at a strip-club where they'd gotten plastered before Wilson had literally dumped the semi-conscious diagnostician on her front steps and had driven off. The oncologist had been a little put out about not being allowed this privilege that came with being the best man but Cuddy had told him to suck it up because it was her wedding and _her_ fiancé, not his.

House had refused to choose sides for fear of being castrated.

Wilson was a dear friend but for the past couple of months he had insinuated himself into House's and her dates and dinners at home more times than not and had been getting House into more trouble than ever. Besides the strip-club incident she had been particularly miffed with having to spring Tweedledee and Tweedledum out of jail; they had been caught and charged with being intoxicated in a public place, public indecency, and the defacement of public property for writing their names in urine on the concrete sidewalk in front of Princeton city hall at two-thirty in the morning. She'd even had to stop at the loft along the way and pick up a pair of pants to bring with her because somewhere along the line the ones Wilson had been wearing had simply disappeared. If Cuddy hadn't known better she would have accused the oncologist of being jealous and trying to sabotage her relationship with his best friend.

Before Cuddy could ask her mother to release her arm for the second time Lucinda and her husband Ralph burst into the anteroom, appearing flustered and distressed. Cuddy had the mental image of her wedding cake going up in smoke.

"What's going on?" the bride-to-be demanded, her hands flying to her hips. "What's the commotion all about?"

"It's Greg and James," Lucinda told her, appearing shaken up. "They've been kidnapped!"

"What?" Arlene exclaimed in disbelief. "Lucinda, what on earth are you talking about?"

Cuddy felt the headache start just behind her eyes. She'd known things were going way too smoothly and had been subconsciously waiting for the other shoe to drop. As usual, nothing involving Gregory House and James Wilson could go off without some kind of catastrophe taking place first. Sometimes she felt like she was mother to three children—a sweet little daughter and two overgrown juvenile delinquents.

"I had to go to the bathroom so I thought I'd use the ladies' room over by the back entrance," Lucinda explained dramatically. "I figured I could check on Greg and James to see if they were ready at the same time—only, as soon as I stepped out of the ballroom into the back lobby a cargo van pulled up outside and two giant thugs in ski masks and guns ran into the hotel. They began to search the cloak room and bathrooms. When they got to the men's room there was a lot of yelling and then these maniacs came out dragging your fiancé and his friend in choke holds out to the van with their guns at their heads. They threw them inside the rear doors and then drove off."

Cuddy's mother began to panic, announcing that they had to call the police and ranting about what to tell all of the guests! And the caterers! And the flowers were going to wilt from the heat of the candelabras! The bride, however, stared at her sister suspiciously, her mind working a mile a minute in an attempt to determine if that was, in fact, what had actually occurred; if, as she suspected was more likely, it wasn't the truth then she wanted to know what exactly what her husband-to-be and his faithful sidekick were up to now.

She grabbed Lucinda by the shoulders, made her look into her piercing eyes and said softly and menacingly, "Lucinda, you're my sister and I love you, but we're not kids anymore. If I find out you're lying to me about something that's fucking up my wedding, I'll be sure to make your life miserable for the duration of it and I assure you, you won't have long to suffer. Where are Greg and James?" She subconsciously allowed her grip to tighten to the point of discomfort for her sister.

"Ow, Lisa!" Lucinda protested. "I told you the truth! The police have already been called and somebody went to get ahold of the hotel manager. This probably has something to do with the fact that your fiancé is a moral degenerate! He probably pissed off some pimp—!"

"Impossible," Cuddy retorted snidely. "He never hangs out with your husband."

That's all it took to set Lucinda off. "Why you little bitch!"

The Dean of Medicine felt her sister grabbing her throat with one hand and winding up to slap her when Arlene jumped in to separate them before the cat fight could get rolling.

"That's enough! Break it up! Lucinda and Lisa! If you keep fighting I'll—"

"Oh, shut up, Mother!" Cuddy told her angrily. "We're not sixteen and fourteen anymore. I don't know what is going on or who is to blame but when I find out I'll skin them alive—or add a thousand clinic hours to what they already owe—whichever is more painful." She was a woman with a mission as she stomped towards the ballroom in her four-inch heels and white flowing gown. "And I damn well intend to find out!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: ****Held Hostage**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy, random characters from canon and OCs/House/Cuddy established; House/Wilson Pre-slash/slash.

**A/N: **This story runs AU, what I would like to see happen if House and Cuddy should ever plan to get married. I'm sick of Huddy already—it's completely ruined the show—so if you like Huddy, then you'll hate this and you might as well move along to another fic.

**Also,** I want to give a big thank you to **George Stark II** for being my ever patient beta!

**Genre:** Drama/Romance.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story involves spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season Seven, Ep. Ten.

**Word Count: **~ 1700

**Rating: M (NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, violence, drug and alcohol use, and explicit sexuality.

**Held Hostage**

**Chapter Three**

It was déjà vu.

House opened his eyes slowly as his mind emerged from his drug-induced unconsciousness. It was dark but not completely. Around him was a dim green glow and occasionally there were flashes of bright white light that seemed to stream past his left periphery. As he woke up a little more he could feel vibration underneath and around him and he could hear a low hum. His vision, which had been blurred at first, was clearing. He was reclined slightly in a seat. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly he realized that he was sitting in a car, at night, and it was moving.

He turned his head to the left and saw Wilson sitting in the driver's seat, staring straight ahead. They both still wore their tuxedoes except the driver had removed his tie and had opened the top two buttons of his shirt.

House tried to figure out exactly what had happened and why he was in a car with Wilson heading wherever instead of an airplane with Cuddy on their honeymoon. He remembered getting dressed, driving to the hotel and meeting up with his best friend. Together they went to a quiet men's room where Wilson helped him with his tie and tried to ease his fears. The younger man had pulled a flask of scotch out of his inside breast pocket and went to take a drink but House had taken it from him and downed most of it. Wilson had been asking him if he was certain that he wanted to go ahead with the wedding and then…he woke up just now.

Wilson had dosed him and abducted him—again. The question was, why?

_Shit,_ House thought suddenly, _Lisa's going to kill me!_

"Why?" he asked, still slurring a little. He startled the younger man who apparently hadn't noticed that he was waking up. Wilson settled quickly and glanced over at him from time to time as he drove.

"You're awake," he said and then asked House evenly, "How are you feeling?"

"Dopey and pissed off," was the reply. The intention had been to sound angry and intimidating but it had come out sounding exhausted and goofy. "Answer my question."

"What _was_ your question?"

"Wilson," House said warningly, glaring at him with icy blue eyes. He found the seat release lever and raised the back of the seat.

Sighing, Wilson shrugged and avoided the diagnostician's gaze. "I had to stop you from making one of the biggest mistakes of your life. I enabled you to become addicted to Vicodin. I've been enabling you to kill who you are slowly and I don't want to enable your self-destruction any longer."

House's brows drew together in confusion. "What the hell are you talking about? I'm getting married, not shooting myself up with heroin. It's a positive step, not self-destructive."

"You're wrong," the oncologist told him, shaking his head. "For months I've tried to be supportive of you and your relationship with Cuddy, even though I had huge reservations about it. I told myself that in spite of all of the hurtful shit she pulled on you over the past year she may have changed and being with her might be good for you. I stood back and said nothing when I saw how she began manipulating you by using her disapproval, the withholding of sex and hints that your relationship might be over. You came to me over and over again confused, frustrated, and afraid and I wanted to say something then, but I didn't. I wanted to be a good best friend, so I gave you advice that I thought would help. It didn't. She kept using your insecurity and love against you to change you, alter you. She's been trying to fix you and in the process she's been breaking you. I had to do something to make it stop before she destroyed my best friend."

House's eyes narrowed, not wanting to accept what he was being told. "You're wrong. She's not trying to fix me. She does love me the way I am."

Wilson began to chuckle derisively at that, raising the older man's defenses.

"I don't know where you got that idea, but you're the one who's wrong," House was told. "She's been trying to change you from the start because obviously she has never thought you were good enough the way you are. Slowly, bit by bit, she's been wearing you down with her pouts and threats and you—you give in to her time and time again! You're terrified to say no and stick to it. No, if you don't want to obey her like a good lap-dog then you back off and lie to her, hiding behind it in the hope that she won't find out and cut you off or otherwise punish you. It's working, too. You're no longer the brash, egotistical, cynical, argumentative, brilliant and ground-breaking man you were before. She's cowed you, made you afraid of your own shadow, submitting to things that at one time you _never_ would have submitted to."

"She's not a manipulator!" House nearly shouted. "She loves me—she's helping me get better!"

"She's trying to destroy Greg House and mold you into Greg House 2.0!" Wilson snapped back. House noticed how the younger man's knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel very hard. "You _were_ getting better—without her, and if I hadn't been such a dick-head when it came to Sam you would have continued to get better without her. She doesn't think you're good enough to be a responsible partner and father to Rachel and apparently has no faith in you to get there on your own. Open your eyes, House. She's behaving just like Cameron only less obviously."

House clenched his fist. It wasn't that he wanted to hit Wilson, exactly—he just wanted him to shut up. He didn't want to hear all of that because it only echoed his own doubts of the past year which he'd worked so hard to push aside; he'd forced himself to abandon them because of his need to make this relationship succeed. Wilson's reminders only nullified all of the hard work he'd done.

"Have you ever considered the possibility," House asked him softly, angrily, "that I need to be fixed? I'm broken, Wilson. I'll never be good enough for anyone. She's at least willing to give me a chance. If that means she forces me to get better, then it's worth it."

Wilson put on his right signal, pulled over to the side of the road, and parked. Turning in his seat to face him he looked at House with a combination of regret and something else. Whatever it was it went beyond fondness, but how far beyond House wasn't certain he wanted to know.

"You're not broken, Greg," the oncologist told him gently, using his first name—something he almost never did. "You don't need to be fixed by her into what she thinks is the perfect man. You're good enough just the way you are. Are you perfect? No…but who the hell is? Who wants to be? If you feel there are areas where you need to heal then work on them on your _own_ terms, not _hers_."

The diagnostician was very confused. Everything Wilson was telling him sounded right and most of it resonated as true, but was it? If he had been good enough as he was, why had he continually ended up alone and miserable? All he wanted was to be happy and not be left behind. Cuddy was his last chance. How could he let that go? He met his best friend's gaze and was captured by it, as he always was. He wanted to believe him…but he couldn't.

"If I'm good enough," House whispered, diverting his gaze down to his hands on his lap, "then why do I always end up alone?" He sighed and blinked back the extra moisture he felt accumulating in his eyes. "Take me home, Wilson. I'm getting married. I _have_ to."

Wilson shook his head in defiance. He sat back around, turned on his left signal light, and when it was safe he pulled back onto the highway. "No, you don't," was all he said in reply.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: ****Held Hostage**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy, random characters from canon and OCs/House/Cuddy established; House/Wilson Pre-slash/slash.

**A/N: **This story runs AU, what I would like to see happen if House and Cuddy should ever plan to get married. I'm sick of Huddy already—it's completely ruined the show—so if you like Huddy, then you'll hate this and you might as well move along to another fic.

**Also,** I want to give a big thank you to **George Stark II** for being my ever patient beta!

**Genre:** Drama/Romance.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story involves spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season Seven, Ep. Ten.

**Word Count: **1766 including introduction.

**Rating: M (NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, violence, drug and alcohol use, and explicit sexuality.

**Held Hostage**

**Chapter Four**

When he started to find it difficult to keep his eyes open Wilson decided that it was time to find a hotel for the night and continue their little journey in the morning. It took another ten minutes before they came across some nondescript little village approximately fifteen minutes northeast of Baltimore, a sleepy little dot on the map named Chance. They stopped at a quaint little bed and breakfast with a vacancy sign that looked as good as anywhere to sleep.

The remainder of the drive following their little chat on the side of the highway had been made in silence. House had turned his head away from Wilson, staring out the window at nothing in particular. The oncologist had known his best friend of nearly two decades was pissed off at him, perhaps even planning his escape and route back to New Jersey. Wilson had understood that. House wasn't a man who formed relationships easily and commitment was one of his biggest fears. So for him to have gone so far as proposing to Cuddy and making it to the wedding without turning tail and running meant that marrying Cuddy was very important to him indeed. Wilson's big question that needed answering was why it was so important. He knew that House loved Cuddy, but from their conversations lately, especially the drunken ones Wilson had secretly recorded, the diagnostician was questioning whether or not he was actually in love with her.

Wilson recalled one conversation in particular. Well, he didn't recall the conversation because he'd been too stinking drunk at the time, but he did remember what he'd heard in the recording the next day and he her hhewas able to recall enough fragments from his memory to piece together what had happened. It had been the night Wilson had taken his best friend out for a drink and after three of them had dragged Wilson via cab to a strip-club for a couple of lap-dances and shot after shot of tequila. Wilson had tried to match House shot for shot but had had to stop before he passed out and had to be carried home. House had mocked him, of course, for being a lightweight and next to House he was. Wilson could never get over House's incredible tolerance for alcohol.

In the cab on their way to drop a very drunk House off at Cuddy's house, their interesting conversation took place. It had taken Wilson a little extra time to make out what they were saying from the recording because of the slurring and non-logical progression at points; he'd marveled at how it had all sounded perfectly fine to him when he had been wasted.

They both had climbed into the backseat of the cab and as was normal for them they sat closer than normal male best friends would sober or drunk; their shoulders, arms hips and knees were nearly in constant contact. House had wrapped an arm around Wilson's shoulder in what he'd said was a 'manly man-hug'…

"You know why I like you, Wils'n?"

"No. Why?"

"'Cause I can tell you anything an' you won't leave me—well, except for that one time, but we don' talk about that."

"Right. And right. 'Cause I really like you too, House. I really, really do."

"I can' talk t'Lisa. She doesn't lisssten, ya know? It's always 'Greg that isn' funny! Greg, I don't care, you're not watchin' monster trucks while my mo-huh-ther is here! No Greg, you can' do that test 'cause I'll stop given head if ya do. I don' care if the patient'll die if ya don't, whose more import'nt t'you—me or the dying fourteen year old girl? Greg when are you ever gonna grow up? You could at least try to act respons'ble.' Oh! Oh! and my person'l fav'rite, 'What do you mean you can't take Rachel to see 'Twisted'? Lucas used to take her places like that!' Fuck. Do I look like fuckin' Lucas, Wils'n? She said she was sorry but she had her arms crossed like this and looked pissed off. She prob'ly thinks I'm stupid like fuckin' Lucas, too."

"Hey. Hey, House…you sounded-ed just like Cuddy. Can you do Foreman now?"

"Wils'n, did you jus' ask me to fuck Foreman?"

"I d-don't think so…you wanna fuck Foreman?"

"No." (House laughing drunkenly) "I don't even like Foreman!"

(Wilson laughing too) "Oh. That's good 'cause you were scarin' me there for a moment…House, does Cuddy ever give in? I mean, do ya ever win an argument?"

"Once."

"Only once?"

"Yeah."

"Jus' once in all these months? Jesus, House—you're more of a pussy than I was with Sam…an' my exes!"

"Shut the fuck up."

"Iss true. At least I ignored Bonnie an' Julie when they told me not to go watch TV with you. That's why I took you without you havin' to ask 'er t'nite. You know she woulda said no. 'No, Wils'n, the last time he spent time with you he came home with a dog tied to his ankle.' Like that was my fault. You're the one who said ya wanted a dog when you were a kid but your dad wouldn' let ya. I was jus' tryin' t'help. Cuddy has you whipp'd. I don't like tha'. I don't wantcha t'be whipped, House."

"Thanks, Wils'n. You're a good friend. You like me even if I am immature an' unreliable."

"I do."

"An' you don't cut me off from sex if you're mad at me."

"No I don'…wait a minute, there's something wrong there…?"

"If we were fuckin each other, Wils'n…would ya cut me off for not sayin' sorry?"

"Hell, no. I'd like fuckin' you too much to do that."

"You would?"

"Sure, why not? Yer good-lookin' an' Stacy told me once you were a great lover. If I cut you off, House, I'd be cuttin' me off too."

"Hey, that's right…you think I'm good-lookin'?"

"Abso-loot-ly, I do."

"Well, I like your eyes…they're like two chocolate buds meltin' on the dashboard of my car."

"Why, thank you, House…House, are you happy?"

"Are you?"

"Nah, uh-uh, I ask'd you first."

"I…um…I dunno."

"You don't? How come? You're with Cuddy now. You shouldn't be miser—miser—sad anymore."

"I like the comp'ny. I was all alone, ya know. You were with Sam and Lisa was with Lucas and I was all alone in that fuckin' apartment. I miss'd livin' with you in the loft. I love Lisa, at least I think I do. But I don't feel like Lisa likes me, Wils'n."

"Sure she does!"

"I know she likes fuckin' me but iss like I'm never doing anything right when I'm around 'er. She's always pissed off at me. I think she lied t'me, Wils'n."

"When? How?"

"At the start. After we had sex after the crane thing. She told me she didn't expect me t'change but she lied an' I knew she was lyin' but I didn't wanna lose her an' be alone anymore."

"What really happen'd that night, other than Cuddy an' you havin' sex? You never told me it all."

"Oh…well, my leg was hurtin' really bad an' I had that Hannah die so I was pretty fucked up by the time I got home. I found some Vi—Vicodin stashed you never foun' when I was at Mayfield. I jus' wanted all the pain t'go away so I was thinkin' about takin' a couple when Lisa show'd up and told me she loved me. I guess she saved me. You wanna know somethin' I haven't told anyone about that?"

"Sure. Tell me."

"Okay, but you can't tell anybody and you have t'promise not to freak out,'kay?"

"Is it bad?"

"Yeah…no, but it's kinda-well, oh fuck it! When I was sittin' there alone with the Vicodin, and Lisa came, I was kinda disappoint'd."

"Wha'? Why?"

"'Cause I was hopin' it would be you. I wanted my best friend t'come an' help me an' kick his harpy out an' ask me to move back home. I wanted you t'save me like you always had…but it wasn't you. I just wanted it t'be you, Wilson..."

Wilson remembered listening to that part of the conversation over and over, kicking himself harder each time for it not having been him. If only he'd ignored Sam's whining and stopped by House's apartment that night on his way home then quite possibly House wouldn't be getting married to Cuddy now. Maybe House would have been with him now instead of him being the one all alone. Maybe he and House could be…together, together…because he was in love with the older man and had decided to stop pretending anymore. After all, that's all his ex-wives had been—his desperate attempt to pretend that he was strictly heterosexual and pretend that he wasn't in love with his male best friend. Because his exes had been needy and distracted it had been easy to both delude them and himself.

He had known that there was something more between House and him than just best friendship for a long time. He'd sensed on many occasions over the years that the diagnostician was attracted to him and even, perhaps, desired him…The night he presented House with the organ stood out in his mind as a good example. Wilson knew eye-fucking when he saw it and gave it and those few seconds when their eyes had met he had been fully aware of and had been participating in a lot of eye-fucking with the older man. The oncologist hadn't called his friend on it before because if on the odd chance that he had been wrong and House hadn't been interested in an intimate relationship with him it had had the potential to destroy their friendship.

"Let's go in and get a room," Wilson told his best friend tiredly. "I'm beat."

House looked at him questioningly. "_A_ room? I want my own room, thank you."

"What—you think I'm going to take advantage of you?" Wilson asked him, rolling his eyes. "House, I'm not that desperate. Besides, I can't keep an eye on you if you're in another room."

"You think I'm going to want to sneak out in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere in some harebrained attempt to escape?" House demanded, regarding Wilson as if he were insane.

Wilson didn't need time to think about that. "Yes." he replied.

House looked at him with his mouth slightly agape for a moment. He then frowned and shook his head. "I'm not leaving this car. Good fucking luck making me."

Having anticipated House's stubbornness and trickery Wilson had come prepared. He climbed out of the car and shut the door then went to the trunk to get something. He looked to see House reach to open his door but it remained locked. He then dove for Wilson's door but before he could open it the oncologist slammed the truck lid shut and pressed the lock button on the key fob. When House tried the door it wouldn't open. He hadn't anticipated Wilson making certain that the car was designed so that once it was locked there was no way to unlock it and escape from the inside.

Wilson smiled at House's disbelief and frustration. He went to the passenger's side door and unlocked it with the key fob, opening it and watching House carefully saying before the diagnostician could react.

"I wouldn't try to escape or overpower me if I were you, House." Wilson's smile was self-satisfied.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't?" House growled, challengingly.

"Haven't you noticed something a little uncomfortable in your underwear?" Wilson asked him. House's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Apparently he had.

"See," Wilson explained smugly, "I figured you wouldn't be cooperative so I had a friend at MIT design something to help you remain compliant."

A flicker of fear appeared in House's eyes but his expression didn't show it. "How?"

On Wilson's keychain was a second fob House hadn't noticed before. He lifted it for the older man to see. "When I explained the situation he designed it for me quickly using the same principle as an anti-bark dog collar—you know, the type that gives the dog an electric shock when it barks and increases in intensity with each bark after that?" He had to pause to prevent himself from laughing as House appeared to realize what was going on. He quickly continued. "It's ingenious, really. He rigged a vibrating ring with the shock apparatus and created a remote control button to operate it manually as well as automatically. And you know where the ring goes."

Horrified, House's eyes opened widely and shifted down to look at his crotch, then returned to Wilson's gaze.

"You didn't." he said softly, but it was apparent that the older man wasn't convinced of that.

Nodding, Wilson told him, "Oh, but I did." At that moment he knew he had House exactly where he wanted him. Planning ahead had really paid off.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: ****Held Hostage**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy, random characters from canon and OCs/House/Cuddy established; House/Wilson Pre-slash/slash.

**A/N: **This story runs AU, what I would like to see happen if House and Cuddy should ever plan to get married. I'm sick of Huddy already—it's completely ruined the show—so if you like Huddy, then you'll hate this and you might as well move along to another fic.

**Also,** I want to give a big thank you to **George Stark II** for being my ever patient beta!

**Genre:** Drama/Romance.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story involves spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season Seven, Ep. Ten.

**Word Count: **1341

**Rating: M (NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, violence, drug and alcohol use, and explicit sexuality.

**Held Hostage**

**Chapter Five**

Cuddy sat alone in her bedroom, exhausted, dejected and afraid. This was her wedding night. She was supposed to be with House, Mister and Missus (even though she refused to take his name), beginning their honeymoon. She had planned everything carefully; they were to have stayed at a hotel for the night, made love several times, slept a little in between and then caught their flight to New York and from there to Paris in the morning. Rachel would have been kept by Lucinda and Ralph for the two weeks they would have been gone. Instead she was in her own home, wedding cancelled due to groom and best man being abducted in the strangest turn of events ever to happen to her, and she would be spending the night in her large, cold bed all alone. Nothing had turned out as she had planned; Cuddy hated it when she wasn't in perfect control and things weren't working out exactly the way she wanted.

The police had tried to get copies of the security video recordings for the back foyer around the time that the kidnapping had taken place. Mysteriously, the five minutes before and after the kidnapping had been erased. The authorities were going to try to get their forensics expert to see if he could find a 'shadow' where the original was and then use a few fancy algorithms to recreate what was missing but they hadn't been too hopeful. Somebody on the inside, possibly a member of the hotel's security personnel, they figured, might have been involved—they would have had access where a member of the general public wouldn't have. The police were going to be interviewing those members of the staff who had access to the video recording equipment during the time the kidnapping had taken place. It was at least a place to start.

At first Cuddy hadn't believed her sister and brother-in-law's story about her fiancé and his best man being abducted just moments before the ceremony but the more the matter was looked into, the more their story checked out. That left the Dean of Medicine feeling very worried for both House and Wilson. A wedding could be postponed for another date down the line but only if the groom returned alive. Not knowing who kidnapped them or why it was difficult to know if she would ever see House and his sidekick again.

The police believed that if the kidnappers had planned to hold the two doctors for ransom they would be in contact with Cuddy soon with their demands. For that reason a technician had come to her place to put a tracing device on her phone line. When not at work and protected by the hospital's security department Cuddy's house was being watched twenty-four-seven in case those responsible tried to abduct her or make contact with her in person. As far as Rachel's safety was concerned she was staying with her Auntie Lucinda and Uncle Ralph until the situation had righted itself.

Cuddy went to her kitchen and made herself a cup of tea which she took to her living room. She curled up on her sofa trying to think of anybody who would have had a motive of any kind to abduct House and Wilson. Though doctors, neither man made an exorbitant amount of money working at a hospital like they likely would have in their own private practices; so financial gain was an unlikely motive. Chances were the reason was more personal in nature; when it came to House she was certain there were a great many people who would want to do harm to the world-renowned diagnostician. Those who didn't want to seek revenge might be motivated by obtaining his genius. If said person or people were ill and didn't know why but had had their case rejected by House because it hadn't been 'interesting' enough for him it was possible the motive behind the kidnapping was to force House into making a diagnosis and Wilson had been taken simply because he'd been in the right place at the wrong time.

What if, however, it had been House in the right place at the wrong time and the abductors had been after Wilson? Cuddy set to work figuring out scenarios and motives in his case. Perhaps he had a disgruntled patient who was angry that there was no cure for him or her and was taking it out on Wilson. No, she thought, sighing silently. Wilson was so good at breaking bad news to his patients that most of them actually thanked him for telling them that they were going to die. The idea of one being vengeful was ridiculous. Was it possible that Sam Carr was behind this? Cuddy had always had the feeling that Wilson's ex had been slightly unstable. Perhaps there was more to her leaving Wilson than the oncologist had mentioned and for that reason she'd snapped and had Wilson abducted to teach him some kind of lesson or to punish him; House could have been taken at the same time to prevent him from squealing to the cops.

Cuddy sipped at her tea, feeling the chamomile relaxing her and allowing her body to remind her brain just how exhausted she was.

There was one last possibility, but Cuddy didn't want to entertain it. It was possible, albeit remotely, that House and Wilson hadn't been kidnapped at all but had, instead, simply run away together. She wasn't a fool. She knew that there had always been something more that bound them to each other than mere friendship. It was like they were two halves of a whole and without each other neither one could flourish. They were Soulmates, something Cuddy resented deeply. For that reason she had worked hard to create a distance between them. She didn't want or need any more competition for House's loyalty and affection than she already had with Wilson; Cuddy knew that if it came down to a choice between her or the oncologist, House would choose him. She had no reason to believe that House and Wilson were anything but straight but then again, she had no reason not to, either.

It seemed unlikely that House and Wilson had run away to be together as lovers as well as friends, however. They had reached a point in their friendship where they were really best friends in name only since she had purposefully left her fiancé little time to spend around Wilson. If anything, it would be just as likely that Wilson had kidnapped House himself. No, no somebody else had abducted them from the hotel, but she didn't know why. Cuddy hoped that the kidnappers would be in contact with her soon with a list of demands; the sooner that happened the sooner she could get the groom and best man back and finally get married—and get her mother off her back about it.

She finished her herbal tea and felt like she was relaxed enough to sleep now, so she headed off to bed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: ****Held Hostage**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy, random characters from canon and OCs/House/Cuddy established; House/Wilson Pre-slash/slash.

**A/N: **This story runs AU, what I would like to see happen if House and Cuddy should ever plan to get married. I'm sick of Huddy already—it's completely ruined the show—so if you like Huddy, then you'll hate this and you might as well move along to another fic.

**Also,** I want to give a big thank you to **George Stark II** for being my ever patient beta!

**Genre:** Drama/Romance.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story involves spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season Seven, Ep. Ten.

**Word Count: **1390 including introduction.

**Rating: M (NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, violence, drug and alcohol use, and explicit sexuality.

**Held Hostage**

**Chapter Six**

He'd never seen the maniacal gleam in Wilson's eyes before. House stared at his soon to be former best friend in disbelief even as he reached down to feel the front of his pelvic region through his tuxedo pants. Sure enough, the chafing he'd attributed to the seams of the new pants was actually due to something that had been attached somehow to Little Greg. He cautiously undid the button and fly, opened the flap then lifted up the waistband of his boxers and took a peek. It had been attached and kept in place on his flaccid member with super-adhesive medical tape. The good news was, there was plenty of space left to accommodate, um…expansion. Not that there would be any under these circumstances. House swallowed hard. That tape was going to hurt coming off.

House felt…violated and yet also oddly…intrigued.

"Was it good for you?" House asked the younger man sarcastically. "I wouldn't know since I was _unconscious_ when you decided to _molest _me."

Wilson shook his head at him, looking a little embarrassed as well as nervous.

"House, I didn't molest you," the younger man informed him. "There was nothing sexual about it. Believe me, if I wanted to have sex with an unconscious, unresponsive body I would have called up Sam."

That brought a smile to House's face in spite of the fact that he was spitting-mad. Before he could start yelling Wilson spoke up, holding up the remote button to the shock device on the diagnostician's cock.

"This is how it works, House, so listen closely," Wilson told him seriously. "I knew you would put up a resistance so this was necessary, but I don't want to use it unless I have to. It has a pressure trigger. If you try to remove the ring it will set it off and automatically shock you at the highest level, level five. Trust me, House. You don't want to be hit with a level five. This button in my hand allows me to activate it remotely whenever I need to. It will start at level one—uncomfortable but not really painful. A warning shock, if you will. If that doesn't work I'll press again and you'll get level two. Now it becomes painful. Each successive time I have to press it, the shock gets stronger and more painful. Level five…well, if it doesn't knock you out cold from the agony, you'll be begging me to do it to you myself. I really don't want to hurt you, House, but if I have to _I'll fry your dick_. Now, to prove to you that it actually works…" Wilson depressed the button once.

House jumped as a strong pulse of pins and needles hit his penis, travelled down to his testicles and straight to his spine. It was definitely quite the sensation, as Wilson had said and not something he wanted to feel a lot of. It elicited a kind of pain-pleasure response. Painful at first but pleasurable at the same time, the same idea behind some forms of S and M. He couldn't help but think that the device _definitely_ had commercial possibilities—and private ones as well. Still, he doubted that the higher levels would be pleasant.

"Have you lost your mind?" House said to the oncologist, truly afraid that something had caused Wilson's mind to snap.

"Keep your voice down!" Wilson told him, looking up and down the dark and deserted street of the blink-and-you-miss-it village. "You'll attract attention!"

"That's the point!" House shouted again. A split-second later he felt another jolt from the device on his penis. This one felt more like an ice-pick had stabbed his cock for half-a-second instead of thin little pins and needles poking at it. He let out an involuntary, undignified yelp.

"That's level two," Wilson cautioned him. "Please, House. Just cooperate with me tonight and nobody has to get hurt."

Level two was definitely not as pleasure-inducing as level one. His concern for Wilson was no longer a joke. House wondered if Sam leaving him right after he'd asked her to marry him had caused Wilson to have some kind of breakdown—severe depression could manifest itself in psychotic symptoms like paranoia, delusions, even auditory hallucinations. Wilson had been drinking a good deal more than usual lately, also a symptom of and contributing agent to depression. He also had a history of the disease and having a schizophrenic in his family hinted at a possible predisposition for mental illness. House wondered if his pushing Wilson away the night of his breakup with Sam because Cuddy had been on her way over could have pushed him over the edge; his resulting delusion was that House's future marriage was something dangerous that needed to be prevented and the younger man had to rescue the diagnostician from himself and the pull of the 'evil' Cuddy. If House had made himself available for his hurting friend and had been paying more attention to his mood and behavior, would this be happening now?

If Wilson really had lost his mind, then he could be a danger not only to House but also to himself. The older man decided he had to keep an eye on Wilson for further signs and symptoms of psychosis and not antagonize him. He wanted to help his friend and be there for him if he could, so House decided to play it safe and cooperate for the time being.

Worried blue eyes met unreadable brown ones, hoping to glean some insight into what was going on in Wilson's head. He had to grudgingly admire the oncologist's ingenuity. A cock-zapper—it could really catch on among suspicious housewives and sex shops alike.

"Alright, Wilson," House said quietly, somberly, "I'll cooperate—but just for tonight. Tomorrow morning you're going to give up this crazy plan of yours and take me back to Princeton."

Sighing, Wilson replied, "We'll be returning to Princeton, House, but _not_ tomorrow. Not until you realize that marrying Cuddy would be a huge mistake for both of you."

House didn't argue with him. He lifted up both hands partway as if in surrender.

"I'm just going to get out of the car," House told him cautiously. "No need to buzz my business, okay? I won't run. I'm tired and my leg is killing me. I just want to go to bed and get some sleep."

Wilson stepped back to give House room to climb out and rise to his feet with a wince. Seeing his cane in the backseat he reached for it. He knew he could probably bring the cane around and club the younger man with it before he could react and press the button but House didn't—couldn't. This was Wilson, not some hardened criminal out for a ransom or blackmail or even revenge. There was so much more going on here under the surface and so much at stake. No…Wilson needed to be helped, not hurt.

House took his cane in his right hand and touched it to the ground as he closed the door and turned slowly back to face his best friend.

"Let's go in," House told him, making no sudden moves. Wilson nodded, giving him a weak half-smile of appreciation. They walked side-by-side a few inches apart up the sidewalk toward the front door of the bed and breakfast.


	7. Chapter 7

**Title: ****Held Hostage**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy, random characters from canon and OCs/House/Cuddy established; House/Wilson Pre-slash/slash.

**A/N: **This story runs AU, what I would like to see happen if House and Cuddy should ever plan to get married. I'm sick of Huddy already—it's completely ruined the show—so if you like Huddy, then you'll hate this and you might as well move along to another fic.

**Also,** I want to give a big thank you to **George Stark II** for being my ever patient beta!

**Warning: **The next couple of chapters involve a somewhat **dark!Wilson**. It's not too bad but he is a little darker than he usually is. It revolves around his desperation.

**Genre:** Drama/Romance.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story involves spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season Seven, Ep. Ten.

**Word Count: **1645 including introduction.

**Rating: M (NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, violence, drug and alcohol use, and explicit sexuality.

**Held Hostage**

**Chapter Seven**

The best friends entered their room with only one suitcase that Wilson carried because he didn't trust House to keep his word and cooperate if both of his hands were full and he was unable to reach the remote button for what House had already nick-named the 'cock-zapper'. They both looked around.

The room was the size of a large master bedroom and decorated in a soft French country style: a single queen-sized bed made of a wooden headboard and footboard painted white and posts delicately lathed and white-on-white bedding with coverlet and shams trimmed with soft green. A dresser, wardrobe, desk and chair, armchair, and bedside tables in the same style of the bed stood out against the wallpaper, which was the same soft green on the sham trim with small white and rose colored blossom print. It was genteel.

"Looks girly," were the first words out of House's mouth. "Just your style, Wilson." He went to sit down on the bed.

Wilson glared at him, trying to hide his amusement. He'd anticipated that comment, knowing House almost too well. He set the suitcase down in front of the set of drawers. There was a complaint coming that he was anticipating as well.

"Hey! Where's the TV?"

Bingo. "Obviously there isn't one," the oncologist told his friend mildly. "I thought you were tired?"

He went to briefly check out the en-suite bathroom and then returned to see that House had moved to lie on the bed, down the center on top of the covers. He had his hands laced together at the fingers and resting behind his head. Laying like that the diagnostician looked incredibly handsome and sexy. Wilson had to look away to keep Little Jimmy from waking up and betraying him.

"So where are you sleeping tonight?" House taunted with an impudent expression on his face. "The floor looks more comfortable than that armchair."

"On the bed," Wilson told him simply. He lifted the suitcase onto the bed and opened it, carefully searching for something amidst the perfectly folded clothing inside.

"Sorry," House told him, shaking his head. "I claim dibs on the bed; there's no way I'm sleeping on the floor or in the chair with my leg."

"Of course not," the oncologist assured him. "You'll have your half, I'll have mine. We've shared a bed before."

"Only when we both passed out on one," the diagnostician reminded him, frowning. "You are after my body, aren't you? First you're handling Little Greg to put your torture device on him and now you want to get under the covers with me. Well, it's not like I can blame you. I am incredibly desirable. I think Nora may have been right about you."

"Yes," Wilson said with a sigh that said he was losing his patience quickly, "You're incredibly hot and I want to ravish you because you're just that sexy, House."

"I know," House told him with a nod. "It's a curse, really. So many disappointed people I've been forced to reject because they're simply not good enough. I'm afraid you're out of luck, Wilson. I'm faithful to my fiancée—I'm a one woman kind of guy."

"I'm heartbroken," Wilson told him flatly, looking up at him. "Ah, here they are." Wilson lifted up two pairs of handcuffs he'd brought along so that House could see them. He enjoyed the look of shock that crossed House's face before he could hide it.

"Wow," House said softly, wide-eyed. "You think you know a person! Drugging, fondling, S&M, bondage—this is a side of you I never would have expected," he told the younger man after swallowing hard. "As interesting as it is, my rejection still stands."

Wilson smirked at him, shaking his head. The truth was House's little comments had been stimulating Wilson's imagination (among other things), sending it in a direction he hadn't wanted to go with him in the same room. His cock was starting to respond and he had to focus hard on an image of House having sex with Cuddy to calm himself down.

"I'm going to use these to bind you to the headboard," Wilson told him. "I need to go get your suitcase and I don't want to risk having you run when my back is turned." He lifted up a ball of socks and large bandana in the other hand. "This is to make certain you don't scream for help."

House's face paled and he actually looked nervous now. Wilson felt sorry for him and regretted all of this but he had no other choice. He'd started this and now that he was so invested in this plan he couldn't turn back or risk having it foiled. For some reason House was unable to listen to reason or see things realistically. His obsession with Cuddy was unnerving and as his best friend Wilson had the moral responsibility to do whatever it took to prevent House from destroying himself. Wilson also had the personal agenda of making House fall in love with him just as much as he loved House. He knew that the spark of attraction between them was there—he just had to figure out a way to ignite it.

"Wilson," House murmured, all humor having escaped him, "this is going too far. I appreciate your commitment to this…this prank, but…you're acting irrationally now. I'm…I'm concerned. You're not well. I know you can't see it, and that's okay. I'm here for you and I want to help—"

"I haven't lost my mind, House," the oncologist told him in frustration. "I'm perfectly sane—extreme circumstances require an extreme response. I wish you could understand!"

"I want to," House told him, serious, worried blue eyes meeting his gaze. "I want to understand, but I don't. Maybe you could try explaining it to me?"

Wilson shook his head. He knew this was House's way of trying to distract him from doing what he had to do, a delay tactic so he could come up with a plan of escape. He dropped the gag components and moved quickly to the head of the bed, grabbing one of House's wrists in one fluid motion. He clamped the handcuff around his wrist and to the post of the headboard in a spot where it was connected in two spots to the panel, preventing it from being slid up over the end of the post. House yanked at the cuffs, trying to pull away from it, pry it off of his wrist or break the chain but couldn't. The cuffs were legit. During this Wilson rounded the bed with the second set of handcuffs and grabbed House's other wrist. House fought back, trying to pull his arm away from Wilson and shouting but Wilson's full strength was greater than that of House's one arm and he managed to bind it to the other post.

"What are you planning to do now? Have your way with me? For Pete's sake, Wilson, this is absolutely insane. You're…you're starting to scare me!"

The oncologist gritted his teeth, hating every moment of this. Tears stung his eyes from having to do this to the man he loved.

"Shut up!" Wilson snapped, pulling out the remote button. House immediately closed his mouth, looking full-fledged afraid now.

"Don't do this," House begged him, appearing more vulnerable than Wilson had seen him in a long time. "Wilson, I know I've been neglecting you, especially after Sam left. Let's just talk about this!"

"Later," Wilson muttered, his voice breaking. He grabbed House's jaw and pried it open despite House's attempts to keep it shut or bite him. As soon as he had it open enough he shoved the ball of socks in. House cried out in his throat but it was muffled and barely louder than normal conversation. Wilson secured the gag with the bandana and tied it behind House's head. His hands were shaking badly as he did it and tying the knot was more difficult that it should have been.

He backed away from the bed, taking in what he'd just done, feeling sick to his stomach. He questioned his own sanity for a moment. House was looking up at him with glassy, frightened eyes. Feeling like he was about to cry, Wilson looked away and tried to blink back his tears.

"I'll be right back with your suitcase," he told the older man, his voice thick with emotion; he grabbed the room key and left, the door clicking softly closed behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title: ****Held Hostage**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy, random characters from canon and OCs/House/Cuddy established; House/Wilson Pre-slash/slash.

**A/N: **This story runs AU, what I would like to see happen if House and Cuddy should ever plan to get married. I'm sick of Huddy already—it's completely ruined the show—so if you like Huddy, then you'll hate this and you might as well move along to another fic.

**Also,** I want to give a big thank you to **George Stark II** for being my ever patient beta!

**Genre:** Drama/Romance.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story involves spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season Seven, Ep. Ten.

**Word Count: **3091 including introduction.

**Rating: M (NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, violence, drug and alcohol use, and explicit sexuality.

**Held Hostage**

Chapter Eight

House lay on the bed, bound and gagged, nearly out of his mind with worry and fear. Too many terrifying memories going back to his childhood were being revived, resulting in flashbacks and increased anxiety. Increased anxiety increased his cardiopulmonary rate, but being gagged made it difficult to breathe in enough oxygen to compensate. He felt like he was going to asphyxiate and knew he had to calm himself down before he passed out. He forced himself to resist breathing when his body yearned for it and to take slow, steady breaths instead. The peripheries of his vision began to grey so he closed his eyes to focus on his task. All it took was another flashback to foil his efforts and he passed out.

When he awoke again he was still alone, bound and gagged. The clock on the bedside table said that Wilson had been gone for nearly twenty minutes. A panicked thought occurred to House: what if Wilson had left him there and had driven away to parts unknown? His heart rate sped up a little again and he forced the thought from his mind. He had to remain as calm as possible. To do that, he had to engage his mind on something else. Besides, Wilson wouldn't do that, even if he was insane—would he?

All thoughts about the wedding and Cuddy had been pushed to the back burner as he tried to reconcile the man who had just done this to him with the best friend he knew and loved. If he could logically deduce what was wrong with Wilson then there was a chance he could reason with him long enough to get them both home safe and sound and the younger man could get the help he obviously needed.

The dosing wasn't all that surprising. Neither was Wilson telling him that he was making a mistake with his life; that was practically the oncologist's credo concerning House. Even though Wilson was keeping him a prisoner like this, he had appeared to be genuinely pained by his own actions, at some points looking like he was about to vomit or burst out crying. That had told House just how severe the oncologist's pain was, how desperate he was to rescue the older man. There was no doubt that he was unstable, lost in his own delusion and unable to see that it was a delusion, not real. House knew all too well what that was like.

House was watching Wilson slide into insanity, unable to do anything about it and afraid that there was no help for him. It pained House because of the fact that he was secretly in love with Wilson which only served to cloud his powers of perception. Wilson in his right mind would never seriously hurt House. He was certain of it. The problem was, Wilson was not in his right mind, so anything was possible.

As far as House was concerned, his best friend's emotional slide began when he'd taken up with his first ex-wife. It had happened so fast and had gotten serious far too quickly, even for Wilson. It was as if he was looking hard for a reason to become involved with someone—anyone—as quickly as possible. But why? Sure, he was in his early forties and single, but he still had plenty of time to find someone special, someone House approved of. If Wilson had been so inclined, he could have had House; the diagnostician had been almost certain things were heading in that direction anyway the day Wilson gave him that organ. The look Wilson had given him had definitely been a 'come hither' gaze and only fear had kept House from following Wilson into the master bedroom. Obviously House had been wrong, considering that it was only two weeks later that he'd been in the kitchen getting a drink and discovered that Sam was back.

Something occurred to House. It was so obvious…wasn't it? Almost immediately after Wilson's nonverbal pass on him, he'd taken the long walk off the short pier. What if…Wilson had surprised and frightened himself that night, not just House? It would explain a lot of things, most importantly Wilson's nearly complete about-face in his attitude and behavior around the older man that had culminated in him asking House to move out because Sam was moving in. The organ wasn't easily portable. Even if bought on a whim Wilson would have known that, so getting it anyway meant that he'd intended on House living in the loft with him for a long time. That had changed not long after the eye sex moment.

After House had begun dating Cuddy, Wilson had been there for him, perhaps even more so than before Cuddy had come to the diagnostician proclaiming her love. In fact, Wilson's first reaction was disbelief, anger and denial. It had taken Cuddy grabbing House's balls for the oncologist to accept that the relationship was real—and Wilson hadn't seemed happy about it, despite his best wishes for Cuddy and him. He'd been too reserved for the man who'd spent nearly two years trying to throw House and the Dean of Medicine together.

Sure, Wilson had been forthcoming with the advice for House, but he'd never seemed happy to be giving it. In fact sometimes he'd seemed to be irritated, even grudging. That had become even more the case following Sam walking out on him and House kicking him out when he'd needed someone to comfort and support him.

The slope of the slide, House realized, increased the day he'd gone to Wilson at the loft to tell him that he and Cuddy were engaged. By that point House had been so focused on his fiancée and their wedding plans that he'd admittedly spent less and less time with Wilson, not that they'd been spending much time together before that anyway. He hadn't paid much attention or thought about it until now. Wilson had bailed on him when he'd asked the oncologist to go bowling with him; instead he'd gone out and gotten so stinking drunk that he'd fallen down some stairs getting to his loft and had sprained his wrist and ankle. All House had done the next day in response to seeing him on modified crutches was to mock Wilson for his clumsiness and show him the rock he'd picked out for his fiancée. Even then, in pain, Wilson had managed a smile and approval for House's choice.

Wilson had 'abducted' House a few times after work following that and they'd gotten drunk and into trouble—trouble that Wilson had started or instigated. Although, House still had to smile about the dog tied to his leg. That had been a good one—especially the reaction Cuddy had had in response to it. However, smiling with the gag in his mouth was impossible and only served to bring his thoughts back to the present and the predicament House found himself in.

Twenty minutes after he'd left to get the second suitcase from the car he returned with the luggage and a brown paper grocery bag. He set the bag and suitcase down then tentatively approached House, looking grieved, ashamed.

"I'm sorry that took as long as it did," the younger man apologized softly. "I remembered that you haven't eaten since brunch so you had to be getting hungry and thirsty. I was also stopped by the owner of this B and B and asked about your yelling. I apologized and told her that you were having a nightmare. She seemed to buy that."

Wilson fidgeted nervously, rubbing the knot that had formed at the back of his neck. "Uh, I want to un-cuff you and take off the gag but you have to promise that you won't start yelling or screaming again. Okay?"

House glared at him for several seconds before nodding grudgingly. He would cooperate and by doing so gain Wilson's trust. With that trust he would get them back to Princeton safely, soundly, and still as friends. He hoped.

With trembling hands Wilson removed the gag. He found the key to the cuffs in his pocket and undid them from the bed and House's wrists. Before House could pull his hands away from the oncologist Wilson took a look at his wrists to make certain that no serious damage had been done; his touch was gentle and caring. Unnerved by how good it felt House gently pulled away from his touch.

"They're fine," he mumbled. They were a little red but he doubted there would be any bruising and the skin hadn't been broken. He hadn't been aware of the fact that he'd been crying until Wilson reached out and wiped some of the wetness off of his face. House recoiled automatically, his nerves shot. He had to admit to himself that he was genuinely fearful of the younger man.

Nodding, Wilson backed off of the bed and put the handcuffs on the dresser top.

"Thank you for not screaming as soon as the gag was off," he whispered, looking at him with sad, apologetic eyes. Going to the paper bag he pulled out a Reuben sandwich, some potato chips and a Coke for House, a chicken salad sandwich, a garden side salad and bottled water for himself. He brought the food over to the bed and sat on the edge of it next to the older man. House took his food without a word, snatching it from Wilson's hands like a scared dog would snatch food from a person's hand and then back off quickly to a safe distance to enjoy it. He quickly unwrapped the freshly made sandwich.

"Something tells me you didn't get this from the gas station we passed," the diagnostician commented.

Wilson shook his head as he opened his salad. "I asked downstairs if there was anywhere around here that was still open where I could get something to eat. Apparently there are only one hundred and sixty-six people in this village but they have one hell of a kosher deli. Don't worry—I made certain they made your Reuben dry."

House gave him a nod but didn't comment. They ate in silence, as they often had in the past, only this time it was uncomfortable thanks to the giant elephant standing between them. Wilson avoided his gaze, staring mostly at his food; House carefully watched Wilson, looking for any signs that Wilson would act aggressively again after they finished eating.

After they were done eating Wilson cleaned up all of the garbage. He brought House's suitcase to him. "I just packed a few things for you. If you need anything that I've missed, we can pick it up along the way."

"Along the way to where?" House asked, trying to keep his voice even.

"It's a secret," Wilson told him evasively. "I'm going to get ready for bed. Long day of driving tomorrow."

"But not back to Princeton," House said more than asked. He already knew the answer.

"Right," Wilson told him and then grabbed his toiletry bag. "In case you're thinking of running, I'm leaving the bathroom door open and I can see the entire room in the mirror. I have the remote button with me." With that he went into the bathroom.

House watched the oncologist's face as he took a leak and then washed his hands and found his toothbrush, paste, and floss.

"Does Lisa have any idea where we are?" House's voice was on the hard side. "Or is she back home thinking that I stood her up on our wedding day?"

Wilson stared back at him in the mirror. He spat out the toothpaste in his mouth in order to answer. "She doesn't know where we are, but she knows that you didn't stand her up."

"Well, that made a whole lot of sense," House snarked. "Care to explain?"

"She thinks we were kidnapped by two balaclava-wearing thugs with guns and a white paneled cargo van."

House stared at Wilson incredulously for a full ten seconds before bursting out laughing at the ridiculousness of that cover story and with nervous tension. Only Wilson could come up with something so insanely stupid yet it was the absurdity of it that could just possibly fool Cuddy, at least temporarily.

"Lisa is going to believe that for about, oh, half-a-second," House told him when his laughter waned, "then she'll have us both hunted down thinking I was in on the planning of this little road trip you've forced me on. When we get back you'll be arrested then fired and I'll be strung up in the hospital lobby by my balls. Great plan, there, genius. You may have succeeded in destroying my relationship with her but it won't be by convincing me that marrying her will destroy my life. When that happens, where the hell do you think that puts our friendship?"

Wilson was silent for a moment. House could see the pained expression, the hurt and doubt in the oncologist's chocolate brown eyes, the lump in his throat that he was currently swallowing as he leaned on the vanity with his hands and hung his head over the sink. He looked so distressed that House had to fight the urge to tell him it was going to be alright.

He's sick, House reminded himself. When you were sick, he did right by you.

"Cuddy's sister is in on this with me," Wilson told him quietly. "She sees how big of a mistake this marriage is for both of you, too. She was supposed to tell everyone that she saw us being abducted. Earlier in the day she and Ralph tampered with the hotel security cameras—I don't know the details and I don't want to know. Believe me, Cuddy will buy it. If, by the time this road trip is over, I haven't convinced you not to go ahead with this wedding you have nothing to worry about. I, on the other hand, will be in jail, my license to practice gone and all alone. Regardless, I had to take the risk—your happiness is worth it."

House pondered what Wilson had said and frowned. "Do I look happy right now? I want to call Lisa, now."

Wilson shook his head and sighed yet again. "No. I can't let you do that—not yet. Not until we reach our destination."

"Goddamnit, Wilson!" House shouted. "I don't fucking care about your plans! You're insane!"

Wilson lifted the remote button up quickly to remind him to lower his voice; the younger man's thumb hovered over the trigger. House closed his eyes for a moment. He needed to calm down and act rationally. One of them had to if this situation was to be defused with their friendship intact.

"Wilson, we need to talk about this."

An edgy chuckle was Wilson's reaction. He said, "House, you're the one who avoids talking about our issues like the plague. We don't do serious conversations. Why are you so interested in one now?"

House shrugged. "We're long overdue," was his honest, hoarse response.

Wilson came out of the bathroom and set his toiletry bag aside. He regarded the diagnostician thoughtfully. "If you need to use the bathroom you'd better do it now." He went to the dresser and picked up one set of handcuffs.

House looked at him almost pleadingly. "Fuck, Wilson! You're not going to chain me up like a dog again, are you? P-Please, I…I can't handle it."

"Just one hand," the younger man told him, his words heavy with regret. "I can't risk having you run off while I'm sleeping. I'm also going to have the remote button for the cock-zapper on a chain around my neck for safe keeping. I won't gag you so long as you remain quiet."

"Wilson, no."

"It's either the cuffs or I drug you, House," Wilson told him, his voice rising an octave in pitch. "It's up to you. Please just cooperate with me. I want this to be as painless as possible."

House sighed heavily as he eased himself off of the bed and limped to the bathroom without bothering to grab his cane; he was afraid he might use it on Wilson if he did. House peed carefully, trying not to get the device taped to him wet for fear of having his manhood fried if it shorted out. He washed his hands and then returned to the bed.

"Move over to the left side," Wilson told him. House could see him wearing the remote button around his neck. Obediently House removed all of his clothes except for his boxers, grabbed an undershirt from his suitcase and pulled it on over his head, and then lay down as instructed; he didn't even bother to resist as the younger man took his left hand and cuffed him to the post again. This time he did it lower down on the headboard so House could roll onto his left side or lie on his back in reasonable comfort. The older man trembled slightly as soon as he heard the cuffs click onto the bed post.

"Goodnight, House," Wilson said to the older man before turning off the ceiling light, climbing into bed, pulling the covers up over his shoulders, and reaching to turn off the lamp. He settled back down, turned his back to House and was silent. House waited to hear his breathing slow and become more regular but it didn't. He fell asleep waiting for Wilson to.


	9. Chapter 9

**Held Hostage**

Chapter Nine

House's sleep was short-lived, however. Two hours later he woke up and rolled onto his back. It quickly became apparent to him that Wilson wasn't in the bed anymore. The room was dark with only the faintest light from a streetlight filtering through the curtains. It was enough for him to see a dark silhouette sitting in the armchair. The figure raised something to his lips, the filtered light catching the object and gleaming, revealing it to be a liquor bottle. There was no glass, just Wilson drinking scotch or bourbon straight from the container.

"Wilson?" House said groggily. "What are you doing up?"

The silhouette spoke. "Go back to sleep, House."

"I can't. I guess you'll have to sedate me with whatever that is you're drinking." It concerned House that the oncologist was sitting up alone in the dark getting drunk. That was something the diagnostician used to do on a regular basis when he was miserable and in pain. He wanted to get Wilson to trust him enough to start talking about what was going on in his head.

House heard a soft noise coming from the other man that sounded like a sob.

"How can you even talk to me, House?" the younger man asked him, his voice barely audible. House had been right; Wilson was sobbing. "After what I've done to you tonight…"

"I'm just trying to figure out what's really going on here," the diagnostician told him tiredly. "You know I hate talking about emotions and relationships…but you're my best friend. You've been there for me. I…I want to be here for you, but I don't know how to do that. You need to tell me."

There was a sigh and the sound of the younger man trying to even out his breathing and stop the crying. Wilson rose unsteadily from the chair and staggered over to the bed where he sat down on the edge, nearly sitting on House's left thigh.

The diagnostician managed to get himself into a semi-seated position. Wilson handed him the bottle.

"Eww!" House said as he took it, "Wilson cooties!"

"Do you want some or not?" Wilson was slurring.

House said nothing and took two good swallows of the scotch whiskey—good scotch whiskey—and then handed the bottle back. Sighing, he asked, "What's really going on, Wilson? What's happening to you?"

He could see Wilson shake his head slowly. "I don't know. That's what's scaring me shitless. Doesn't matter, though. Watching you make a huge mistake with Cuddy scares me more. God, House…I don't even know who the fuck I am anymore. I believed one thing about myself only to come to the point where I realized I was completely deluded. I'm trying to figure out what I'm thinking and feeling and then I see you fucking up your life and I…I just…Shit! I just want to scream. I wanna shake some sense into you, you know? Part of me wants to slap you silly and the other part wants to kiss you silly and I don't know which part I want more."

House stared at his darkened face, speechless. He was frightened, genuinely frightened, and not for himself. It was apparent that Wilson's problem went a lot deeper than he thought. It was about identity, personal and, apparently, sexual. The pain and confusion he saw his friend suffering from was starting to choke him up. He felt uncomfortable and inadequate around it; he knew that a good friend would be comforting and supportive but House didn't know how to do those things as much as he wanted to.

"It's going to be okay, Wilson. Why do you think that what I'm doing will fuck up my life? I don't."

"You answer me this," Wilson responded. "Who are you now, House? Who have you become? 'Cause you're not the same person you were even a year ago. I barely recognize you anymore. I miss the man you were."

"What are you talking about? I'm still me."

Wilson shook his head again. "No, you're not. Sometimes I wonder if you haven't died, House, and all that's left is the corpse of a once fascinating, amazingly intelligent and talented, independently-minded, sexy man."

House's heart skipped a beat. "Did you just say 'sexy'?"

A sad chuckle escaped the silhouette. "Yeah, I guess I did. Does that make you want to hit me now?"

He took a moment to seriously consider that question. Wilson was drunk, which meant he was probably saying things that he would never admit to when he was sober. That was often the case with him, though not always. House decided to proceed carefully and assume that he _would_ remember until he was given good reason to believe otherwise.

"That depends," House told him with a smirk. "Do I have to fear for my virtue?"

"What virtue?"

House couldn't help but chuckle at that and he could very faintly see Wilson's face move a little, probably with a smirk or smile.

"I don't want to hurt you, House," the younger man told him softly. "I want Gregory House back, not Cuddy's version of House 2.0. Someone who loves you should love you for the way you are, for your weaknesses as well as your strengths. I've watched you change these past months, and not for the better. You tell me you're happy but when you and Cuddy are together you both look miserable. You keep coming to me in a state of perpetual anxiety, obsessed with the fear that she'll dump you and desperate for advice to keep that from happening. Every time you think or act in the slightest way contrary to what she wants she punishes you with the cold shoulder or tells you that she can't take it anymore and that she's through with you. She expects you to sacrifice and bend over backwards for her but when has she reciprocated? She manages your life and relationship like she does the hospital—with an iron fist."

"You're exaggerating. Yes, she does take control—but I need that. I need someone to keep me from self-destructing; to keep me in line. She's helping me to get better."

Wilson could be heard taking another couple of swallows from the bottle before responding. "She's destroying your spirit, your individuality. You're losing yourself in her. That's not getting better. That's getting sicker. You don't realize how well you were doing last year."

"I wasn't," House whispered, avoiding the topic of his individuality and spirit like the plague. "Cuddy saved me from the Vicodin."

"What are you talking about? You were already clean and you did that without either Cuddy or me."

"I almost relapsed. I had the Vicodin in the palm of my hand. I was going to take it, but she arrived and saved me." The memory of that night was imprinted on House's mind permanently.

"When was this?" Wilson sounded legitimately confused.

"The night of the crane disaster, when she came to me and told me that she'd left Lucas for me. That was the night she became my savior." House had closed his eyes, trying not to think about how pathetically weak he'd been and the fact that he'd needed saving in the first place.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

House shrugged, forgetting that Wilson couldn't see any more clearly than he could in the dark.

"You had Sam. You didn't check on me yourself that night. You didn't care." House felt that pain all over again, the hurt of being pushed away all over again, of being kicked out to try to survive on his own when he'd felt like he was at his weakest, of knowing that Wilson didn't and never would reciprocate his love. Except, now he wasn't as certain of that as he was before.

The room was silent but for the odd creak or knock common with the settling of older buildings and the sound of their breathing. He felt Wilson's hand brush along his arm as lightly as a feather. It made his skin tingle.

"House," the oncologist told him eventually, "I care for you more than anyone I've ever known. That was the problem. That's always been the problem. I'm afraid you'll run away or push me away if I show you how much I care and I can't risk that. I don't want to push it 'til it breaks, 'cause if it breaks, I'll lose everything of importance and meaning for me."

House didn't know what to say. Was he misinterpreting what Wilson was telling him? Was it the alcohol speaking and not the man sitting next to him or was it really what Wilson thought and felt? And how did he feel about it? He loved Lisa—but he loved Wilson more. Was his best friend actually telling him without telling him that he was in love with him, too? Or was this part of his instability talking? Was it the pain of watching him with Cuddy and being in love with him that was driving Wilson crazy? Was that incredibly arrogant of House to even wonder that?

Wilson handed House the bottle again and then took the key off from around his neck and undid House's cuffs, freeing him. He threw the cuffs across the room; they hit the far wall and then dropped to the floor with a loud crack-thud. He then took off the remote button and handed it to House, who accepted it with the hand that had just been freed. Wilson retrieved the bottle and began to guzzle it at an alarming rate. When he didn't seem to be prepared to stop any time soon House dropped the remote button and wrestled the bottle out of Wilson's hand.

"You're going to kill yourself if you drink all of that!" House told him, so frightened that he sounded angry.

"I know," Wilson whispered. He rose from the bed more unsteadily than he had from the chair. "That's the fucking point." He stumbled on his own feet as he rounded the bed and climbed in on his own side. He turned his back to the diagnostician, who sat there in silence watching him.

"Go to sleep, House," the younger man slurred with a sigh in his voice. "In the morning you can take the car and head back if you want. I can't continue hurting you in an effort to save you."

"What about you?" House demanded, staring at the oncologist's back, his eyes moving rapidly as he tried to tie all of the strings and see where they led. Wilson—wanting to kill himself? Giving up after working so hard? It was all so confusing. "You're coming back with me, right?"

Wilson was silent, which only elevated House's anxiety level several notches. "Wilson, answer me. You're returning with me, right?"

A long moment passed before he was answered. "I don't think so. I hurt you. I scared you. I can't go back with you. As bad as Cuddy is for you, I've become worse. I love you too much to keep hurting you."

There it was—a confession of love, but not at all like he'd hoped to hear it. It was more like a suicide note this way.

But House wasn't about to let that happen. He wasn't going to lose his best friend. If Wilson wasn't going back, neither was he, because House feared that if they parted ways, the next time he'd see Wilson he would be in his coffin.

"What if by not coming back with me," House whispered, "you'll hurt me more than you ever have before? I'm not going anywhere without you."

His assertion went unheard by the younger man who was already asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Title: ****Held Hostage**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy, random characters from canon and OCs/House/Cuddy established; House/Wilson Pre-slash/slash.

**A/N: **This story runs AU, what I would like to see happen if House and Cuddy should ever plan to get married. I'm sick of Huddy already—it's completely ruined the show—so if you like Huddy, then you'll hate this and you might as well move along to another fic.

**Also,** I want to give a big thank you to **George Stark II** for being my ever patient beta!

**Genre:** Drama/Romance.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story involves spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season Seven, Ep. Ten.

**Word Count: **2092 including introduction.

**Rating: M (NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, violence, drug and alcohol use, and explicit sexuality.

**Held Hostage**

Chapter Ten

Cuddy was getting dressed the next morning when the first phone call came. She hurried to answer it, hoping it was news from the police concerning House and Wilson. Instead it was a stranger's voice and couldn't determine whether the voice was male or female; the connection was so full of static that she could barely make out the words.

"Hello?"

"Is this Dr. Cuddy?" the voice demanded briskly.

"Uh, yes," she replied cautiously. "Who's asking?"

"That's not important," the voice told her. "I know you're having this call traced so I'll be quick. If you want to see your man and his friend again you'll head straight to your office at Princeton-Plainsboro and wait for another call with further directions for you. If you fail to be there when I call back I'll kill both of them. You've got fifteen minutes. Go!"

The line clicked as the stranger hung up on her. She stood for two seconds with the phone handset still in her hands, shocked, before it clicked in her brain that she was wasting time. She immediately finished dressing, grabbed her purse and car keys and rushed out of the house to her garage and her car.

She sped through the light rain, water washing up around the car and then splashing to either side of it in her wake. It normally took her twenty-five minutes to get to work during rush-hour traffic weekdays. It was 7:38 on a Monday morning and rush hour was just getting into full swing. If she didn't speed and take some risks in traffic she wouldn't make it in time to get the coming call. She had to get there on time or she would lose the man she loved and also a friend of many years who deserved better than this fate.

As she drove she used her Bluetooth to contact the police to let them know about the phone call and what she had been instructed to do. They already knew thanks to them monitoring her line. The trace was unsuccessful because the call simply hadn't been long enough for it to be established. She was told that she would be met at her hospital by the detectives assigned to the case.

At one point Cuddy figured she was going to fail. A fender-bender was holding up traffic and it was backing up quite some distance behind her in both lanes. She'd already passed the exit off the expressway which would also take her to the hospital albeit more slowly. Just when she was about to burst out crying in desperation she searched inside of herself for that part of her that refused to give up when the going got tough, the part that had gotten her as far in life as she had, the part she got from her father, God bless his soul.

Gritting her teeth she cranked her wheel to the right and hit the accelerator, driving on the narrow shoulder, just skimming past the sides of other vehicles on her left and riding precariously close to the sharp drop off the road to her right. She resisted focusing on that, straight ahead instead. As she sped past vehicles she received shouts and curses, honks and fists being shaken at her but she didn't give a shit. Those idiots didn't have the lives of two men depending upon them getting to work on time.

As she sped past the sight of the car accident and the cops on the scene she hoped that they were too busy to care about her. As soon as she was past the obstruction she returned to a proper lane on the road. It was smooth sailing in front of her. Sighing in relief Cuddy punched the gas pedal and the car lurched forward. The speed on that particular stretch was 55 mph but she was going 75. When she looked behind her in the rearview mirror her heart dropped when she saw the flashing lights of a patrol car in pursuit of her. It was gaining on her. She couldn't stop for a stupid speeding ticket now! Goddammit!

Her heart froze in her chest as the cop car came up even with her on the left. There were two men inside of it. The one in the passenger's seat held up a notebook to the window. Confused she frowned and glanced sideways to read what was written on the page facing her. It read: Escort. Follow Us.

Relief almost overwhelmed her and the Dean of Medicine nearly laughed and nodded. She watched as the patrol car passed her, lights and siren on, and pulled in front of her. She stayed close enough to the cops' tail to prevent anyone else from getting between them. They led her the rest of the way to the hospital where they pulled up at the main entrance. Cuddy jumped out of her car and ran as fast as she could in heels through the doors and toward the clinic. The cops were close on her tail. All activity in the lobby came to a standstill as employees, patients and their friends and families were surprised by the sight of it. The same occurred in the clinic as she crossed it at a full run and raced into her office with the police.

The phone was already ringing when she entered through her office door. She choked back a cry and snatched up the handset.

"Dr. Cuddy!" she nearly yelled into the phone. She was breathing hard to catch her breath.

"Cutting it close, aren't you?" the same voice from earlier said. Again the words were barely loud enough to be heard over the static that had to have been coming from their end of the connection. How the stranger knew that, she didn't know. Had the phone been ringing for a long time?

"I'm here, aren't I?" she responded, not even trying to hide her anger. "What do you want from me? House and Wilson had better be alright!"

"They're still fine," the voice assured her calmly. "They'll continue to be fine so long as you do what I tell you. Go to Dr. Wilson's office. There will be a letter in a plain white envelope with your name written onto it. It's located in his top desk drawer. Follow every instruction in it. You have two minutes to get there. Go!"

"Wilson's office!" she told the cops standing behind her. She yanked open a desk drawer and found her keys; then Cuddy was off again, not having caught her breath completely from the first sprint to her office. She ran through the clinic, again followed by the police.

"Clear the way!" she yelled, dodging patients and nurses on her way through. Once out of the clinic she ran past the main desk and the elevator, heading to the stairs instead. Wilson's office, like House's, was on the fourth floor. When she reached the stairs she started to climb them, taking them two at a time. Halfway up the first flight the five-and-a-quarter-inch heel on her left shoe snapped off, nearly causing her to trip and fall backwards. She grabbed the rail in time.

"Shit!" she yelled as she grabbed her shoes off her feet and threw them in anger before continuing up the stairs. "Those were seven-hundred-dollar Pradas!"

The cops had no idea what she was talking about and didn't seem to care.

Cuddy was in good shape but she wasn't used to sprinting up four floors worth of stairs so by the time she reached the fourth floor landing her lungs felt like they were going to explode. She forced herself to keep going. She exploded through the fire door and sprinted towards Wilson's office. When she got there she fumbled with the keys until she found the right one and unlocked the office door, running inside. The police nearly tripped each other entering the office behind her, looking like a couple of Keystone Cops.

She headed for the desk, rounded it and yanked the top drawer open. Within the envelope rested on top of a DVD case for the movie Ransom. The irony was not lost on her as she grabbed it and tore the envelope open, pulling out a piece of heavyweight white letter-sized stationary and unfolding it.

In Times New Roman font were the instructions but before she could read them Wilson's desk phone began to ring.

"Put it on speaker," one of the cops told her. She cautiously picked up the receiver, pressed speakerphone and then set it down carefully.

"If you wanted speakerphone you should have just asked for it," the stranger said immediately.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "I'm here and I found the instructions," she snapped impatiently. "I want to know for certain that House and Wilson are still alive. I want to speak with them—now!"

"Well," the stranger said, "the older one isn't really able to talk right now but I'll let you speak to the younger one." To someone in the background the stranger could be heard saying, "Tell her only what I told you and nothing more or your friend gets a bullet in the brain!"

"Hello, Cuddy?" Wilson's voice came over loud and clear. Apparently the static was purposely being made to camouflage the kidnapper's voice and not just a problem with his phone. The oncologist sounded terrified and in pain.

"Yes!" she told him quickly, near tears. "Are you alright? Is House okay? Have they hurt him? Why can't he talk?"

"I can only tell you what they've told me to tell you," Wilson replied, and by the stiffness in his speech pattern she could tell he was being threatened somehow by the kidnapper. "House is alive but hurt. I'm okay. You must do everything you're told or…Jesus, Cuddy, they're crazy! They're going to kill us if you don't—aahhh ahh!"

"Shut up you fucker!" the kidnapper could be heard screaming. Cuddy froze, trembling from head to toe from the scream Wilson had made. "Wilson? Wilson, talk to me! Please!" she begged.

"That's enough for now!" the kidnapper screamed into the phone before it went dead. She dropped into her Chief of Oncology's desk chair, exhausted. It was then that she noticed that there were two more people in the office with her and the first two uniformed officers. These two wore sports jackets and dress pants and wore their badges on labels clipped to their clothes. The detectives she had been told would meet her when she arrived at the hospital. Well, she thought wearily, better late than never.

Cuddy looked at the letter in her trembling hand and read it properly for the first time. It read:

Follow these instructions exactly; failure to do so will result in Dr. House's and Dr. Wilson's deaths.

Go immediately to Dr. Wilson's apartment. Go to the kitchen island. On the island will be a digital pocket recorder. Press play and listen to the message in its entirety. Play it a second time.

Somewhere in the recording is the clue to your next destination. When you get there call the following number: XXX-XXX-XXXX and listen to your next list of instructions. Do exactly what they say.

You must do this alone. No police. If they come with you, we will know.

You have twenty minutes to get to Dr. Wilson's apartment. GO!

"I have to go!" Cuddy barked, throwing the letter at one of the detectives. "Stay here! Please don't follow me!"

With that, she was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

**Title: ****Held Hostage**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy, random characters from canon and OCs/House/Cuddy established; House/Wilson Pre-slash/slash.

**A/N: **This story runs AU, what I would like to see happen if House and Cuddy should ever plan to get married. I'm sick of Huddy already—it's completely ruined the show—so if you like Huddy, then you'll hate this and you might as well move along to another fic.

**Also,** I want to give a big thank you to **George Stark II** for being my ever patient beta!

**Genre:** Drama/Romance.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story involves spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season Seven, Ep. Ten.

**Word Count: **1800 including introduction.

**Rating: M (NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, violence, drug and alcohol use, and explicit sexuality.

**Held Hostage**

Chapter Eleven

It wasn't until a little after ten the next morning that Wilson woke up. The first thing he noticed was that he had a skull-splitting headache. The second was that the diagnostician was lying right up beside Wilson on his side, his left arm draped over the oncologist's chest in what was not quite an embrace. The fingers of House's right hand were tangled in Wilson's dark hair. He turned his head slowly to look at the diagnostician whose mouth was slightly agape in his sleep; the blanket was covering him from about the waist down, exposing his muscular arms and back.

He was so incredibly sexy and Wilson wanted him more than ever. It would have been so easy for him to simply roll over and move closer to him and allow his fingers to play in the tufts of chest hair that peeked out the top of his undershirt before sliding his hand up from the bottom of said shirt and slowly twirling their way down that pleasure trail, not bothering to stop at the blanket line. The thought of it was making him hard and he had to look away.

He faintly remembered his conversation with the diagnostician in the dark, and his surrender after releasing House from his control. He'd half-expected to wake up and find that House had already left for Princeton. Wilson had meant what he'd said about suicide being the point and loving House too much to burden him with his continued crazy abuse. It had been the wrong time to say anything, but the alcohol had loosened his lips as well as his brain. Now he would have to wait and see if House brought the subject up again.

One thing was certain: he had to do something with his wood before his friend woke up and saw it. Carefully Wilson disentangled House's fingers from his hair. During the night House must have thought that Wilson was Cuddy and having him so close to him like that was far too arousing in spite of his depression. He wanted to take his shower before House awoke and took off for home. Wilson wanted the opportunity to say good-bye. He lifted the blankets off of himself and then slipped out of the bed, doing his best not to jostle anything and by so doing awaken his bedmate.

Way to go, James, he said to himself as he felt his erection harden further at the thought of the word 'bedmate.'

The moment he moved he felt a wave of nausea overwhelm him. He should have known better than to drink as heavily as he had last night. The last thing he needed was a hangover when trying to deal with an angry House itching to get back to the bossy bitch he planned on marrying. Wilson wondered who was going to take whose name in that marriage; the thought of having to refer to his best friend as Greg Cuddy was sickening—literally. He barely made it to the bathroom and the toilet before bringing up everything that happened to remain in his stomach from the night before. He heaved until there was nothing left inside his stomach and bile in his mouth.

Well, at least that had taken care of his erection.

Grabbing a handful of toilet paper Wilson wiped his mouth and tossed it into the toilet as well. He flushed. Before he could close the bathroom door House's groggy but sarcastic voice stopped him.

"That was not a pleasant way to be awakened, Jimmy."

Wilson sighed and went to the sink to rinse out his mouth. "Wasn't all that wonderful for me either."

"That'll teach you for hogging most of the booze to yourself." House yawned and stretched. "Hey, hurry up in there; I need to piss."

"Not until after my shower," Wilson told him. "You'll have to hold it a little longer."

"Can't," he was informed. "I'll wet the bed."

Shrugging, Wilson shut the door telling him, "I don't care. It's not my bed."

He undressed and grabbed the bar of soap and shampoo provided by the bed-and-breakfast, and then started the water into the tub. As he adjusted the temperature House yelled to him from the other room and through the door.

"Enjoy jacking off to thoughts of me, Lover-Boy!"

_What the fuck!_ Did he have to yell that? Wilson was certain that every other guest in the establishment had heard him. After all that had transpired House was still in the mood to mock the oncologist for telling him that he was sexy and that he loved him?

He went to the door and opened it just enough to peek around it at the diagnostician. House was sitting up in bed, a knowing grin on his face. Wilson felt himself blush and the blood wasn't only rushing to his face.

"Please refrain from humiliating me this morning, House," Wilson told him with a sigh. "I'm just not feeling up to that today."

House's expression sobered and beautiful blue eyes stared back at him with worry. Wilson shut the door again and then went to the bathtub and pulled the valve, starting the shower. He climbed in and stood under the hot water for a few moments, willing his headache and nausea away. Thanks to House's little wake-up call to all of the guests in the building, Wilson's erection had returned. Only House could do that to him when he had a hangover.

Oh, what the hell? he thought to himself with a shrug. House was the one who suggested it.

Wilson closed his eyes, thinking about his best friend standing in the shower next to him, extrapolating on what he had seen earlier to imagine him naked, standing there with beautiful blue eyes begging him to approach and take him completely.

The oncologist's hand moved slowly down toward his groin, caressing his own skin as it went, but in his mind it was House's body pressing up against him, their flesh coming into contact under the spray of the water. He imagined House taking his hard, pulsating, hot dick in his long-fingered hand. He hissed appreciatively as his hand, or rather, House's fantasy hand began to stroke his cock with a feather-light touch. It traveled up to the head, lingered there a second to gently caress the underside of the glans before the hand stroked downward towards the base of the shaft. He moaned softly the first time and heard the real House begin to sing loudly in the other room; the diagnostician had a wonderful singing voice and Wilson enjoyed listening to him when his friend didn't know he was. However, singing AC/DC's "Sink the Pink" at the top of his lungs and switching the feminine pronouns for their male counterparts wasn't quite what Wilson had in mind for background music. He forced himself to ignore it as best as he could. At least it wasn't six-thirty in the morning.

After a few teasing strokes fantasy House's grip on Wilson's dick tightened a little, to increase the friction and the incredible sensations. He imagined that he was now inside House and the older man was responding to his thrusts with soft moans, gasps and words begging him to keep going and for more. House was moving his hips to meet each of Wilson's thrusts, and the pressure and intensity was increasing with every move. Wilson bit his other hand to keep himself from vocalizing his pleasure but even so the occasional gasp or deep, throaty moan escaped him. He hoped that the sound of the shower drowned it out.

Oh God, it was so good! He was getting so close to climax. In his mind House was sucking on his neck, biting and licking the spot to soothe the pain. Faster and faster Wilson thrusted, being spurred on by the moaning of appreciation he heard until he went over the edge and climaxed, coming in hard, pulsing shots of hot, sticky cum into his hand. Wilson leaned against the wall of the shower for support as he rode out his orgasm and waited for his higher reasoning to return. His panting eased and he became aware of the fact that the shower was still striking his body, washing away the evidence of his deed.

"Hey, Wilson!" he heard House shout, no longer singing. "I know I'm a stud, but do you think you could hurry things along in there? I really gotta pee!"

The oncologist closed his eyes and sighed but he couldn't keep the smirk off his face. He quickly soaped himself down and rinsed, then washed his hair before stopping the water, reaching past the shower curtain for a towel, and climbing out of the tub. He wrapped the towel around his waist and then, still dripping, left the bathroom. The older man was standing just outside the door and gave him another sly smile in an unsuccessful attempt to hide his concern. He batted his eyelashes at him.

"Was I good?" he asked.

Wilson bit his cheek to keep himself from smiling. "Shut up, House." He went to get his suitcase.

House made a beeline to the bathroom. He once again didn't bother closing the door when he urinated. Wilson sighed and pulled the door closed for him.

"What?" House responded. "I thought you'd appreciate the view." The toilet flushed. "I'm going to take my underwear off completely now. Wanna watch?"

"You're not funny, House," Wilson told him while seating himself on the bed and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Maybe your problem is that _you_ wanted to watch _me_."

When there was no smart-aleck comeback from the bathroom the oncologist smiled in grim satisfaction.


	12. Chapter 12

**Title: ****Held Hostage**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy, random characters from canon and OCs/House/Cuddy established; House/Wilson Pre-slash/slash.

**A/N: **This story runs AU, what I would like to see happen if House and Cuddy should ever plan to get married. I'm sick of Huddy already—it's completely ruined the show—so if you like Huddy, then you'll hate this and you might as well move along to another fic.

**Also,** I want to give a big thank you to **George Stark II** for being my ever patient beta!

**Genre:** Drama/Romance.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story involves spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season Seven, Ep. Ten.

**Word Count: **3091 including introduction.

**Rating: M (NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, violence, drug and alcohol use, and explicit sexuality.

**Held Hostage**

Chapter Twelve

House stared down at the device taped to him and sighed.

"House," Wilson called from the other room, "I forgot to tell you—you can't shower with that on so you'll have to sponge-bathe and wash your hair in the sink."

"No shit, Sherlock," House muttered in frustration. "Or, you can tell me how to take it off without emasculating myself. That might work, too."

"What was that? I didn't hear you. House?"

"How about telling me how to take it off?" he repeated loudly. House heard some movement and then the bathroom door, which he'd forgotten to lock, began to open.

"Hey, how about knocking?" House protested, pushing against the opening door with his cane. "I was kidding about allowing you to watch."

He heard the exasperated sigh coming from his best friend. "It'll be easier if I just do it myself. If you misunderstand my directions you'll regret it."

"Trust me," House snapped, "if something goes wrong, you'll regret it."

He could hear Wilson sigh. "I'm a doctor, House. I'm not interested in ogling your dick; but if you want to risk it—"

House wrapped a towel around his waist and then opened the door completely. Wilson stood on the other side fully dressed with his hair mussed up from being towel dried. He handed House's toiletry bag to him. House's breath caught in his throat and he hoped it hadn't been noticeable. Wilson wore a jade green silk button down but had opted to dress casually so hadn't bothered with an undershirt and had left a couple of buttons at the neck undone; the intense green brought out the golden flecks in his chocolate brown eyes. A hint of his dark chest hair could be seen. On the bottom he wore a pair of black straight-leg jeans that showed off the younger man's attributes without being tasteless. He wore sneakers on his feet. In one word, he looked sensuous.

Stop it! House told himself, accepting the toiletry bag and looking away. I'm in love with Lisa. I need Lisa and when I return to Princeton I'm marrying Lisa!

He glanced at Wilson again, in spite of his own assertions. Oh, damn it, who am I kidding? I want him, not Lisa. If I only could be certain of what he'd meant last night, and if he wasn't acting like he'd flipped his wig. Does he really intend to kill himself?

Wilson stepped into the bathroom and set House's toiletry bag down on the tank for him. He then stood waiting, staring at House. The diagnostician wasn't modest—that wasn't the reason for his reluctance. It was due to the fact that just the thought of Wilson looking at his penis and touching the device attached to it was starting to make him harden. He'd had very erotic dreams of situations somewhat similar to this involving the oncologist and the memory of them was adding to his arousal.

"Well?" Wilson said after several seconds had passed.

Swallowing hard, House tried to think about extremely unpleasant things as he opened his towel to expose himself. His eyes were frozen on the ceiling. He didn't want to see this happen.

"Aren't you curious how to do it?" Wilson asked him.

"Just get to it, already," was the sharp response. "I know this must be a dream come true for you but quit drooling and take the damned thing off."

"By the looks of it," Wilson commented as House felt him put his hand under his dick to hold it still and the other hand was touching the cock-zapper, "I'd say this is one of your dreams coming true."

House closed his eyes in humiliation and refused to comment. His damned cock was betraying him, continuing to grow erect. Just the presence of Wilson's hand on the underside of the shaft was enough to make House want to jump his friend.

"There," Wilson said, holding the cock-zapper up to show House that he was done. House lowered his eyes to look at Wilson while closing his towel; the younger man wasn't even trying to hide his smug smirk as he turned and headed out of the bathroom with the device. "If you hurry with your shower you can still catch breakfast before they stop serving."

House was looking in the mirror and saw Wilson check him out quickly before he left the room.

House's heart began to beat rapidly. This was getting weird, fast. There were so many mixed signals being passed back and forth that the diagnostician didn't know if he was coming or going. He needed to get his head screwed on straight and start thinking with his brain rather than his balls. He'd managed to go months without his cock jumping to attention at the sight or sound of his best friend and now that's all that it wanted to do.

With a sigh the diagnostician quickly showered and then brushed his teeth and gargled, ran damp fingers through his wavy hair, and then emerged from the bathroom.

Wilson had packed up everything and made the bed. House put his toiletry bag back into the suitcase, zipped it up, and set it onto the floor.

"You're coming to breakfast too, aren't you?" he asked the younger man.

"I don't have much of an appetite, House. Besides, I have to make some arrangements and you'll want to get back to Princeton as soon as possible." Wilson's eyes looked sad and empty. "I guess this is good-bye."

House shook his head. "No. I told you last night that I won't leave without you. I've decided I'm going to complete this road trip with you. Might help me figure out why you've flipped your lid. Cuddy will still be there when we get back. She'll be pissed off, not that that would be a surprise. When isn't she? But listen carefully because I'm only going to say this once—you've been scaring the shit out of me. If you get aggressive I'll defend myself in whatever way is necessary. I want to trust you, but after being cuffed to the bed and gagged…I don't know if I can. Now, let's get breakfast—I'm starving!"

Wilson looked at him incredulously. "Y-you want to continue on with me after…a-after what I've done? Why?"

"Haven't you heard that you should never look a gift horse in the mouth? Or, in this case, I guess it would be a gift House in the mouth." House sobered. "I've been a bit of a dickhead towards you lately…depriving you of my presence may be a contributing factor to your lunacy. Besides, I've missed messing with your mind. I'll be spending a lifetime with Cuddy—I can spend what?—a week with you."

Wilson simply sighed, still shaking his head. House could see the gears turning in his head.

"Let's go get some breakfast and then come back for our bags," the younger man suggested quietly. House didn't argue. He was really hungry and ready for a few cups of java; he hadn't slept the best, worried as he was. On the way down to the dining room the delicious scents of eggs, bacon, toast, pancakes and strong coffee wafted up the stairs to them. House's stomach growled so loudly that Wilson heard it.

"Wow."

"I'm so hungry I've been craving sausage this morning but I guess back bacon will have to do," House quipped.

He noticed Wilson flush slightly but he failed to comment. As they ate House decided to learn a little bit more about what Wilson had planned for the day and to determine how to best work on his friend.

"So where are we headed today?" he asked across the two-person table.

"Southeast. That's all I can tell you right now. We won't reach our final destination today yet but definitely tomorrow."

House noticed the dark circles under Wilson's eyes now, and the tension in his jaw as well as the slightly pale color of his skin, all of which was more than what could be attributed to a hangover alone. His friend was wound up like a top and at any moment he could come unraveled and spin out of control.

"Wilson," the older man murmured, "did you get any sleep at all last night?"

Two brown eyes flicked up from the food to meet House's gaze and then he shrugged.

"Enough," he answered and then added. "Don't worry—I'm okay to drive, or you can part of the way, if you want. I don't want to talk about it here. Can it wait until we're on the road?" Wilson's voice sounded almost childlike in its pleading.

"Yeah," House agreed with a nod.

They continued to eat in silence for a while; House devoured everything except the fruit; a little fruit, plus a piece of dry multigrain toast, were all the oncologist could seem to stomach. Wilson had his coffee refilled and then turned to House and requested, "Pass the sugar please, House."

The diagnostician rolled his eyes at the politeness. He picked up the dish with the sugar packets in it and handed it to the oncologist. When Wilson took it from him his hand actually overlapped the older man's and then slid slowly across, skin on skin, as he pulled it out of House's grasp. He blinked a couple of times and stared at the younger man questioningly but Wilson was oblivious to it. It was almost like Wilson had meant to grab the bowl from him that way so that their hands would touch and then almost caress as they drew apart. Naw, House decided, mentally shaking his head. He was just imagining things. Wilson was not hitting on him—was he? Sure, there had been his confession of deeply caring for him but the oncologist had been stinking drunk. There was no way to tell whether or not he'd meant it.

They finished eating, went up to their room to get their things and then checked out. A few minutes later they were on I95 heading southeast toward Baltimore. House decided that now was the time to talk more. He smirked privately at the role-reversal. He usually avoided talking about feelings and Wilson was the one wanting him to open up; now it was the other way around. Life was strange, especially lately for some reason.

"I'm not very good at this," House told the oncologist, staring straight ahead. "But I need to discuss something with you." He sighed audibly. "I'm…confused."

"That makes two of us," Wilson murmured, keeping his eyes on the road. "About what I told you last night, about how much I care for you..."

So he wasn't too drunk to remember. Did he also remember House flirting back?

"Yeah? What about it?"

Wilson shrugged slightly. "You never said anything to me about it last night and then this morning you start up with all of your jabs and jokes—and that song, at top of your lungs at that! Then there was your unexpected but obvious reaction when I was removing the cock-zapper, and then I saw you checking me out. Yet, at home you've been acting like I don't even exist; we almost never see each other anymore and when we are in the same room all you can do is whine about what Cuddy is expecting of you at the moment. Don't tell me we see each other every day at work; seeing and spending time are two different things. We've always flirted, but I've always told myself you were just kidding around. Now I'm not so certain. Were you? Or…House, are you…attracted to me?"

House was silent. There was a fluttering feeling in his stomach that he despised because it was sentimental and sissy. He wished Wilson had asked him this months ago, before he and Cuddy had begun their relationship but now...now he was taken and committed to her. House wasn't a complete cad—he had trouble making commitments but once he did, he kept them. Yet, here was the opportunity to finally get off his chest the secret that he'd been keeping for years, to finally be honest with Wilson and maybe…just maybe find out that he felt the same way?

But what if Wilson did confess to wanting him as well—then what? Where could it go now that he was engaged to Cuddy? House loved Cuddy—not nearly as much as he did Wilson, but enough to not want to hurt her. He didn't want to break his word to her, but how could he go ahead and seal that commitment knowing that he would never love her as much as she deserved and he would only end up longing for the person he did love the most? Wouldn't marrying her under false pretenses be worse that ending their relationship now before they married? Of course, this all depended upon Wilson's feelings for him, and his only way of finding out how deeply they ran was to answer Wilson's question honestly.

"Pull over," House said quietly.

The oncologist looked at him quizzically but did as requested, pulling over and stopping on the shoulder of the highway. He put the car into park and then turned in his seat to look at House without straining his neck. The older man met his gaze, amazed yet again by the beauty of his rich brown eyes.

The palms of House's hands were sweating and he absently wiped them on his jeans.

"First, I don't want anything I'm about to tell you ruin things between us as friends."

Wilson raised an eyebrow slightly and cocked his head to the side. "Okay."

House swallowed several times, hating the feeling of exposing himself and his feelings to another person; being that vulnerable to the whims of someone else was terrifying for him. He took a deep breath.

"This is hard for me, Wilson," he whispered.

"I know."

Blue eyes met brown. "I…I…am in love with you. I have been for a long time. For years."

This confession was almost too much for him and he quickly looked away, wishing the earth would just open up and devour him so he wouldn't have to face what he was certain was going to be a negative reaction. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Wilson's hand take one of his own but after that initial overreaction he calmed and didn't pull away from the contact.

"House, look at me," Wilson requested softly.

The diagnostician didn't move.

He felt Wilson squeeze his hand gently. "Please?"

Reluctantly House returned his eyes slowly back to the younger man.

Wilson stared back at him with an affectionate smirk. "I love you, too."


	13. Chapter 13

**Title: ****Held Hostage**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy, random characters from canon and OCs/House/Cuddy established; House/Wilson Pre-slash/slash.

**A/N: **This story runs AU, what I would like to see happen if House and Cuddy should ever plan to get married. I'm sick of Huddy already—it's completely ruined the show—so if you like Huddy, then you'll hate this and you might as well move along to another fic.

**Also,** I want to give a big thank you to **George Stark II** for being my ever patient beta!

**Genre:** Drama/Romance.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story involves spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season Seven, Ep. Ten.

**Word Count: **~2200 including introduction.

**Rating: M (NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, violence, drug and alcohol use, and explicit sexuality.

**Held Hostage**

Chapter Thirteen

After their confessions neither of them had had any idea what to say or do so instead Wilson had pulled back into traffic; they drove in silence, listening to music from House's iPod over the car's stereo system. Every so often they had glanced at each other at the same time and their eyes had locked. Wilson had seen an openness and vulnerability that he'd only caught glimpses of in the past. It was like he'd finally found the right key to open a gate into the man's soul, something he didn't take at all lightly. He felt privileged enough to be trusted with that.

At those moments the oncologist had wanted to pull over again and grab House to kiss him, but he had restrained himself; they would never reach their destination for the night if he stopped the car every time he wanted House.

They stopped at a burger stand just outside Roanoke, Virginia to grab a bite to eat and allow House an opportunity to stretch his legs and walk around. Wilson knew that car travel was hard on him since sitting in one position for extended periods of time tended to cause the muscles left in his ruined thigh to seize up, cramp, and cause him agony. It was a warm afternoon, partly sunny, so they chose to eat at one of the picnic tables outside where they could find a little more privacy to talk without being overheard by the next table over. While he ordered and paid for their food, House walked out any muscle cramps he may have been suffering while scoping out a good picnic table in the small park.

Wilson brought their food to the table, watching House massage his thigh, digging his fingers into the damaged muscle tissue to work out the knots causing most of the pain. Digging into his jeans pocket Wilson pulled out a small vial of pills.

"Here," he said to warn House before tossing the vial to him. "Just ibuprofen, sorry."

Nodding in acknowledgement House opened the vial, took two tablets and then stuck the vial into his own pocket. He swallowed them with a drink from his soda.

"How bad?" Wilson asked him, concerned. He knew how touchy House's leg could be and had witnessed how bad the pain could get.

"Getting better," House answered stoically and then began to eat. They ate in comfortable silence. House only stole half of Wilson's fries but he didn't complain; in fact, he had to keep himself from smiling. That hadn't happened in months—not since before the very beginning of House's relationship with Cuddy. He'd missed having lunch with House, who had begun to eat lunches with his girlfriend once they were dating.

"Are you up to a few more hours of driving or should we find somewhere here to stay the night?" the oncologist asked him.

House shook his head quickly. "I'm fine. It's only 2:30, too early to stop."

Sipping from his drink thoughtfully, the oncologist nodded in acknowledgement. They hadn't said anything more about how they felt for each other and he wasn't about to assume that House would just end what he had with Cuddy because of it. It was one thing to acknowledge loving your same-sex friend, and quite another in living it out, especially publicly or with the risk of it becoming public. After Sam had left Wilson had had time to think things through, come to terms with his feelings and what they meant for him privately and publicly. What if House hadn't gotten to that stage? He needed to know where House was at instead of assuming that they were on the same page.

"So where are we, House?—and I don't mean geographically," Wilson asked him.

House looked at something over Wilson's left shoulder for a moment before his eyes shifted back to his. "We're still where we were yesterday," was his reply. "The question should be, where do we want to go from here."

"I was hoping…forward."

Wilson watched his friend's reaction to his statement, looking for any sign that he was about to spook him and cause House to turn and run in the opposite direction. House was nervous about commitments—not because he didn't believe in them but because he believed too much in them and had always been concerned that he would screw up, destroy the relationship and end up hurt. This much Wilson had been able to surmise from House's behavior over the past twenty years. He wondered how that was going to come into play between them.

"Are we parallel lines? Or merging ones?" House asked with strained impassivity.

The younger man knew what he wanted—he just had to summon the courage to say what that was and to risk being rejected. He swallowed hard. "I want to merge with you."

Wilson said it with absolute solemnity. House stared him in the eyes for a moment…and then burst out laughing. While it wasn't the negative reaction he'd feared, the oncologist was still put out by the fact that the man thought his answer was laughable.

"What the hell's so funny?" he demanded, setting his cup down on the picnic table a little harder than he'd meant to.

"Wilson, you should moonlight as a writer for Teen Girl magazine!" the diagnostician answered. "Or for Harlequin; take your pick."

Wilson pointed a shaking finger at his best friend. "You're the one who used the term 'merging' first. I was simply using your metaphor!"

"Yeah, but you made it sound girly," House said, continuing to chuckle.

House's laughter—Wilson had always found it infectious; not the harsh, bark-like sarcastic sound he made when mocking someone but the genuine laugh that conveyed true amusement with a touch of happiness. It was far too rare a thing to observe. He found himself chuckling, too. It _had_ sounded incredibly saccharine. Whatever it was that existed between the men it wasn't sweet.

Once the humor of the moment had passed Wilson posed the same sober question to House. "Where do you want to go from here? Be honest."

He waited anxiously for the diagnostician to answer his question. More than anything he wanted to hear House say the same thing. He loved him now, after all. House had said so and had sounded like he was being serious.

"I don't know."

It was a bit of a letdown, Wilson had to admit, but House's answer could have been worse. He could have said that he wanted it to go nowhere, for nothing to change—or even worse, for their friendship to end and to be two divergent lines in space. Still, Wilson couldn't hide his disappointment, and he didn't want to hurt House any more than he had by causing him guilt.

"Oh. Okay." The oncologist put on a mask of indifference and shrugged. He collected up his and House's garbage with fumbling hands, wanting to go dump it and create some space between them for a little while but before he could House grabbed his wrist.

"Don't," he said softly. "You wanted me to be honest. Two days ago I was about to marry Cuddy and I had no doubts about it. Today I don't know what to do. No matter what I choose, I'll be fucking up where I stand with someone I care about."

Part of Wilson sympathized with House and the position he found himself in; the other part, the larger part, didn't give a damn if this put House in a spot. It was unfair of him to tell Wilson after all these years that he loved him if he wasn't prepared to take it that crucial step further. House could have lied—he was very good at it—and denied that he had feelings for him and they could have agreed to not talk about it again. Things would go back to normal, or as close to normal as possible and Wilson would have been able to handle that. When House had decided to tell him that he loved him and then back up and say that he wasn't sure if he wanted to be more than friends, he had made his choice without being aware of it. Now Wilson couldn't go back, even if he wanted to.

"I get it," Wilson told him, trying to sound like it didn't matter to him. He failed, hearing a hard, hurt edge to his own voice that he wished he'd been able to hide. "No problem. We need to get going."

Jerking his wrist away from House's grip he carried their garbage away and threw it—and the tray—into the garbage can with a lot of force. Without looking back to see House's reaction he headed straight for the car. Once seated inside he gripped the steering wheel with a viselike grip. His knuckles were snow white and his arms trembled. He closed his eyes and blinked back the tears that wanted to emerge, swallowing hard over and over again until the lump in his throat went away. Taking a few deep breaths he forced himself to calm down. He took his keys, which he'd dropped to the floor at his feet and had to pick up, and started the car. He turned the radio on instead of House's iPod—an easy-listening station—and cranked up the music as high as he could tolerate it. He sang along with Judy Collins on top of his lungs.

"'…Don't you love farce? My fault, I fear. I thought that you'd want what I want…sorry, my dear! And where are the clowns? Send in the clowns! Don't bother, they're here…'"*

House watched Wilson stride away, trying to hold his head up and maintain his dignity. He slammed the garbage and the tray into the garbage can and then went to the car. He climbed inside and seemed to just sit there for the longest time, doing nothing.

Rubbing his eyes, House tried to force away the itching that had just started to irritate them. Wilson had told him to be honest, House reasoned. If he hadn't wanted the truth then he shouldn't have asked for it, right? What the hell did he expect him to do, House wondered. Automatically stop caring about Cuddy because they had finally confessed their love for each other? This was the real world—things didn't work like that. Wilson, with all of his failed relationships, should realize that. Didn't he understand what he was asking House to do? For the first time in his life his existence was somewhat normal—well, as close to it as he was ever going to get—and now Wilson expected him to give that up, come out of the closet and be the oddity again? Wasn't it Wilson who had pushed House and Cuddy together to begin with?

He shook his head, trying to banish the feeling of guilt beginning to burden him. Was this going to push his best friend over the edge? Should he have just lied and told Wilson that he didn't love him? Yes…yes, that's what he should have done. So why had he been an idiot and admitted it instead?

Two large, beautiful brown eyes filled with love for him had definitely been part of it.

House rose stiffly and grabbed his cane. He limped slowly toward the car but stopped in his tracks when he heard it start and the stereo blare at full volume some sappy song from some musical that Wilson would have loved. When Wilson began to literally yell the lyrics along with the performer loudly enough to catch the attention of people within fifteen yards of the car House groaned.

James Wilson had officially lost it. House had fucked up in his effort not to.

He'd ruined everything.

*Song "Send in the Clowns" written by Stephen Sondheim. Send in the Clowns lyrics © Rilting Music, Inc.

See it here: www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=5os4NFeKFFs&feature=player_embedded


	14. Chapter 14

**Title: ****Held Hostage**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy, random characters from canon and OCs/House/Cuddy established; House/Wilson Pre-slash/slash.

**A/N: **This story runs AU, what I would like to see happen if House and Cuddy should ever plan to get married. I'm sick of Huddy already—it's completely ruined the show—so if you like Huddy, then you'll hate this and you might as well move along to another fic.

**Also,** I want to give a big thank you to **George Stark II** for being my ever patient beta!

**Genre:** Drama/Romance.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story involves spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season Seven, Ep. Ten.

**Word Count: **~1340

**Rating: M (NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, violence, drug and alcohol use, and explicit sexuality.

**Held Hostage**

Chapter Fourteen

Cuddy arrived at Wilson's loft to find the front door shut but unlocked. She knew that she could be walking into some kind of trap without anyone with her to help her, but it was something she had to do. She didn't want further harm to come to her fiancé and his best friend. She opened the door slowly, half-ready to run away should someone or something jump out to grab her. Nothing did. In fact, she soon discovered that the apartment was vacant.

She went to the kitchen and found the digital voice recorder just as the voice on the phone had told her. Picking it up with trembling hands she pressed the play button.

"Excellent, Dr. Cuddy," the voice said from the recorder's small speaker. "Yes, you are being watched at this moment. Since you came alone, both House and Wilson are safe—for now. Your clue for the next location you must go to is this: _In for a penny, in for a pound, the place where he finds truth is found: Tricks and lies and one night stands; abandonment and wedding bands. One wrong guess and someone dies; there a sickly child cries._"

"You must figure out where your next destination is by midnight, or one of them dies, Doctor. Once you get there, call the number you were given. And again, we are watching you. If the cops show up with you, they both die. Good luck—you'll need it!"

Cuddy listened to the message again and then went to sit down in a chair in the living room holding the recorder in her hands. Her mind was spinning with fear and frustration. Why the hell did they have to veil the location in a riddle? She replayed the words over and over again in her mind but couldn't understand what it had meant, much less find a location hidden there. What if she couldn't figure it out in time? Would the kidnappers actually murder House and Wilson? Why? What did they want? If they were looking for a ransom, then why go to the bother of the wild goose chase? If she couldn't figure out the clues, then they wouldn't receive any money and if they killed their hostages then they still wouldn't profit from it; unless this wasn't about money.

She shook her head wearily and wondered what the hell she was doing and why she was in this position to begin with. This wasn't what she'd had in mind when she had entered a romantic relationship with him. Having him disappear on her wedding day, being terrorized by a malevolent voice, and being forced to run around like a chicken with her head cut off caused her to wonder if it was really worth it. She was looking for exciting yet responsible and instead she'd discovered childish and unpredictable. Cuddy was a professional woman, both a doctor and a highly respected administrator of one of the most innovative and cutting edge hospitals in the eastern United States, if not the entire country. True, one of the reasons for that was PPTH's acquisition of the genius diagnostician House was but it wasn't the only reason and anyway, that was beside the point.

She wanted a happy home with an incredibly brilliant, sexy partner and their beautiful, highly intelligent little girl. She wanted to be proud to walk into the room with her handsome, world-renowned, successful diagnostician boyfriend and have every woman in the room envy her for her incredible beauty, ultra-successful career, fantastic love life and perfect family. Didn't she deserve that after all of those years of hard work, tough decisions, compromises and heartache she endured to get where she was? But House, and this…this…mess was getting in the way of her achieving her dream.

What was the point of working so hard for a relationship that was looking more and more like it was going to fail?

The point was she loved him, that's what. As insane as she was to do so, it was an undeniable fact. Logic dictated that she pick up Rachel and run for their lives but her heart told her that she just couldn't give up on him like that. Not yet, anyway.

After all, whether or not he'd done something to bring it on himself, House hadn't asked to be kidnapped and possibly tortured or badly injured. That was true for Wilson as well. She couldn't stand the thought of either one of them never coming home again.

For nearly an hour she sat there, puzzling with the riddle she'd been given to solve…but it made no sense to her and she knew that she would never figure it out on her own—but the police, they had experts at figuring out puzzles like this, didn't they—and if not them, then the FBI? She didn't want to bear the responsibility of being House's and Wilson's savior because if she failed their blood would be on her hands.

Now this mantle of responsibility had been forced onto her, and she didn't want it, didn't deserve it.

All she wanted was normal, peaceful, sane life with a man, an adult, someone she could rely on—and with House it didn't seem likely that desire would be fulfilled. The worst part was that she couldn't shake the feeling that this kidnapping was a ruse to hide the fact that House had chickened out at the last minute and had convinced his best friend to help him get out of it without looking like a giant heel. Or, perhaps he hadn't chickened out but…but had decided that he wanted Wilson instead; because she'd figured out a while ago that she wasn't the only one House was in love with. She'd felt secure in the fact that Wilson would never return such feelings and that House would never risk upsetting the apple cart with his male best friend by letting his feelings be known. However, if Wilson did share his feelings and House figured that out…

No. That was ridiculous. Her sister swore that she saw House and Wilson being abducted. Until she knew otherwise, that was the story she chose to believe.

Then again, she'd never really trusted her sister, either.

With a heavy sigh she rose from the sofa and left the loft. Cuddy simply couldn't bear this burden alone; she would have to risk it and tell the police what was going on. She comforted herself with the thought that House had nine lives; like a cat he would come out of this on his feet. If he really had been abducted, then the police were better suited to solving this mystery and rescuing him than she was. If this was a prank of some kind, or simply House freaking out about making a commitment like marriage and running away then…then she would figure out her next move was then.

She was on the phone with Lucinda* about bringing Rachel home tonight as she left Wilson's loft.

***At the time I started writing this the press releases for House used the name Lucinda for Cuddy's sister. When the episode aired they had changed it to Julia instead. Julia was the name used in season 6. That's why it seems to contradict what she's called on the show. Sorry for any confusion this may have caused.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Title: ****Held Hostage**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy, random characters from canon and OCs/House/Cuddy established; House/Wilson Pre-slash/slash.

**A/N: **This story runs AU, what I would like to see happen if House and Cuddy should ever plan to get married. I'm sick of Huddy already—it's completely ruined the show—so if you like Huddy, then you'll hate this and you might as well move along to another fic.

**Also,** I want to give a big thank you to **George Stark II** for being my ever patient beta!

**Genre:** Drama/Romance.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story involves spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season Seven, Ep. Ten.

**Word Count: **~3300

**Rating: M (NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, violence, drug and alcohol use, and explicit sexuality.

**Held Hostage**

**Chapter Fifteen**

House used his cane to rap on the passenger's side window. His door was locked and he couldn't get into the car with Wilson. The oncologist looked at him and then looked away, ignoring him, continuing to sing loud enough for all of Roanoke to hear him. House rolled his eyes; he rounded the car and stood at the driver's side door for a moment before trying to open it. It was unlocked and the door swung open in his grasp. Before Wilson could react House reached in and turned off the radio.

"Wha—where do you get off? Get lost!" Wilson snarled with such ferocity that his older friend actually took a step backward in surprise; he recovered quickly, however.

"I'd love to!" he shouted back, "but my crazy best friend drugged me and drove me hundreds of miles from home so now I'm standing here in the middle of fucking nowhere with this car being my ticket home! So you're stuck with me; unlock the other door and stop acting like a heartbroken teenybopper!"

Wilson met his glare and it was a stare-off. After several seconds Wilson relented and unlocked all of the doors, looking away from House. The diagnostician exhaled explosively, limped back to his door and climbed in, slamming it shut. It was suddenly silent inside the vehicle. Both men stared straight out the windshield, stewing in anger and frustration. Suddenly Wilson opened his door and leaned out of the car. He began to vomit and once it started it went on and on until he was moaning from the painful spasms that were bringing up bile and a frightening amount of blood. House got out of the car again and hurried to Wilson's side. At the sight of the blood he cursed softly. His frustration was forgotten and replaced with worry, which he unsuccessfully tried to hide.

"Easy," he said softly to the younger man, supporting his weight with a hand on his shoulder. The heaving began to ease and Wilson closed his eyes, looking completely spent. "Jesus, Wilson."

He helped Wilson sit up against his seat. "I'll be right back," House told him, shutting the door and limping back toward the hamburger stand. He returned a minute or so later carrying a cup of water and some napkins. He opened Wilson's door again and handed him the napkins and cup.

"Rinse out your mouth then clean your face."

After he did as he was told, House then took the cup and dirty napkins and disposed of them before getting back into the car.

Still sitting back against his seat, with his eyes clamped shut and a look of pain on his face, Wilson murmured, "Thank you."

"Look at me," House demanded. The oncologist didn't do so right away but after a moment or two apparently decided it was best to do as he had been told. Reluctantly, he turned and met his friend's gaze.

"It's nothing," Wilson assured him.

"Yeah, you're right. Healthy people double over from abdominal pain and then vomit blood all the time," House responded to that cynically. "How often do you have the pain and vomiting?"

"House," Wilson protested, "I know what it is and I'm taking care of it."

"Yeah," the older man sneered, "that much is obvious. How often? Daily?"

Nodding, the oncologist looked away from him again. "I've been vomiting once, sometimes twice a day," he told him. "It's gastritis. On the bright side, I'm losing my love handles."

House didn't find that amusing. "You were scoped to make certain it wasn't a peptic ulcer?" was his next question.

"No," the younger man admitted. "House, drop it. It's not an ulcer."

"It's the booze." House shook his head. "You drank enough of it last night to do quite the job on the lining of your stomach. Add that to prolonged use and you've got gastritis."

It was obvious that Wilson didn't want to talk about this by the way he looked away again.

"It's nothing to worry about," he answered. "I'm using magnesium based antacids and taking Tagamet. I have it under control; it's not like I'm dying."

"Gastric bleeding means it isn't 'under control.' How much have you really been drinking lately?" House asked the question, afraid to learn the answer but needing to.

Wilson sighed and refused to answer.

"Answer me," House said softly, no longer sounding angry or sarcastic.

Turning his head toward the passenger's side without lifting it off of the head rest, Wilson opened his eyes. He sighed. "I've been having difficulty getting to sleep lately. I need it to get to sleep. It lowers my stress. Satisfied? Can we get going now? We have a long drive ahead of us yet."

"Funny, I was under the impression that short-term use of a benzodiazepine was the preferred treatment of persistent insomnia. When did they add alcohol to the list?"

"You're talking to me about using alcohol to sleep?" Wilson asked bitingly. "A bit hypocritical, don't you think?

"What about now?" the older man demanded, undaunted, turning the keys in the ignition to turn the engine off and pulling them out.

"What about now?" Wilson echoed, gritting his teeth.

"Do you need a drink now, to take the edge off? To calm down? Are you feeling anxious?" House demanded. "Is that the stress you were talking about?"

"Are you asking me if I have a drinking problem, House?" the oncologist asked him tiredly.

"Yes," House replied succinctly, his blue eyes continuing to search him for answers.

Wilson frowned and then shrugged. "I don't know, and to be honest, I don't care. I'm doing what I have to do to cope. Isn't that what you've done most of your life?"

"Yeah, and look where that got me."

"With a girlfriend who loves you and wants to marry you? Forgive me if I don't see that as such a bad thing."

"Look at the hell I had to go through first," House insisted, frightened by the defeat he saw in his friend's eyes. "Years of being chained to Vicodin and then insanity and detox. Detox from opiates is hell; detox from alcohol will make you _wish _you were in hell."

There was no response from the oncologist for a long time. When he did speak it was quietly, reluctantly. "I've tried to handle things without the alcohol, but I can't. I hate hurting so much inside that all I want to do is take a handful of sleeping pills with a bottle of scotch and make it go away. I've never felt quite this way before House and it scares me. That's why I won't keep sleeping pills around for my insomnia—it's too tempting."

That clinched it; House undid his seatbelt and practically lunged for Wilson, grabbing his face in his hands, pulling him in to a desperate, needy kiss. He kissed the younger man's lips, tasted his mouth, searched it with his tongue; Wilson didn't respond to the kiss but he didn't push House away, either. He simply sat there with his eyes closed and tearing. House moved from Wilson's mouth to his face, leaving small wet kisses everywhere, including his eyelids and the tip of his nose. Tasting the salty tears House pulled back long enough to caress Wilson's cheek, wiping those tears away.

"Please don't do this," Wilson mumbled, pushing House's hands—and House—away. "Please don't give me hope only to pull it away again. I can't cope with that. Until you know for certain that you want to be with me, to have a real relationship, don't touch me again. Now please give me my keys back."

Reluctantly House complied. Wilson started the car and drove back to the interstate once again.

Their destination for that evening turned out to be Atlanta, Georgia. The way Wilson was driving without the use of his GPS system House knew that this wasn't the first time the oncologist had been there. There was confidence in his driving. He didn't once get lost or hesitate as if looking for a street and being unable to find it. House couldn't remember his best friend ever telling him that he'd spent time in Atlanta during his lifetime but one didn't adopt a familiarity with the city like Wilson had by simply visiting it once or twice.

He couldn't stop thinking about their last conversation. If his best friend was drinking so much that he was literally burning out the lining of his stomach until it bled it was a problem that needed to be dealt with. He didn't want to be awakened in the middle of the night in the near future to be told that Wilson had hemorrhaged or had drank so much that his respiratory centers had shut down altogether and resulted in his death. Nor did he want to find Wilson dead from an intentional overdose/lethal drug interaction because he couldn't handle the psychic pain he was experiencing and had decided to be through with it permanently.

As far as being pushed away by the oncologist when trying to show him physical affection, House had initially been offended but had quickly come to understand where Wilson was coming from. He had a point—it wasn't fair for House to expect to be in intimate contact with him if he wasn't certain that they would end up together. House knew that while Wilson was capable of and had had meaningless sexual encounters the oncologist couldn't be in such a relationship with someone he loved. If Wilson loved his partner, he insisted on the whole relationship, the complete kit and caboodle. The biggest reservation House had didn't even have to do with who he wanted to be with more; his best friend won that competition hands down. House's real hang-up was his fear of dating Wilson and then having something go wrong and breaking up. He didn't want to lose Wilson completely from his life if that were to happen but he knew that neither of them would be able to go back to being just friends if they became lovers.

Wilson drove them to a more expensive end of town where the homes were substantially bigger with larger price tags than any of the other areas they had driven through. They pulled up to a gate that guarded a long driveway that led to a large estate with a mansion that looked very much like it belonged in the movie Gone With the Wind. House had a feeling that they had come here to do more than simply crash for the night.

A guard stepped out of a small shelter and approached the Mazda. Wilson rolled down the window to speak to him.

"Good day, Sir," the guard said, tipping his hat at him. "Name?"

"Doctors Wilson and House," the oncologist replied. "Ms. Chalmers is expecting us."

Nodding, the guard said, "One moment please while I ring the house." The tallish man in his mid-twenties returned to the small shelter and picked up a phone.

"Where the hell are we?" House demanded, "and who is this Chalmers woman?"

Wilson smiled slightly at him. "She's our host for tonight and she owns this place. Please behave, House. She's being gracious enough to have us…just show her some respect, that's all I ask."

Eyeing the younger man suspiciously, he replied, "I'm not making promises."

Wilson rolled his eyes and sighed. "Of course not."

The guard in the shelter pressed a button and the steel gate opened in front of them. He waved the car through. Wilson acknowledged with a smile and wave as he drove past the shelter. They proceeded down the tree-lined driveway toward the mansion.

"Besides being our host, who is this woman?" House demanded, looking at Wilson. "And how did you know how to get here without the GPS, a map or anything?"

"I think that much should be obvious," Wilson told him mildly. "Obviously I've been both to Atlanta and here several times in the recent past. You didn't know that because you were too enthralled with Cuddy to even notice that I was gone for an entire week. Your team knew, even asked me about my trip after I returned. You? You were completely oblivious to my absence."

"I know," House acknowledged. "With the engagement and wedding planning and taking on more cases than ever before, I've neglected our friendship. It's not like you haven't done the same thing to me."

"Yet knowing how you felt when it had happened to you, you still decided to do it to me—as what, House? Payback? Revenge? Well, it worked. It hurt me," Wilson told him before returning his attention to the driveway in front of them. "Let's just say that Roberta Chalmers knows Cuddy better than both of us combined."

"And how do you happen to know her?"

"When she read the New York Times announcement page she noticed the entry about your engagement Cuddy had submitted for publication," Wilson answered. "She called you but you weren't in your office at the time. I was walking to the elevator when I heard it and answered the phone. Don't ask me why I did that because I don't know why—I honestly don't make a habit of answering your phone—but it was quite serendipitous that I did. She said that she wanted to warn you about something but when I told her that I was your best friend and I would be sure to give you the message she insisted on telling me some things that I couldn't let go of. She said she had more information so I took a week off of work and flew down here, rented a car and was astounded by what she revealed to me."

"If it's a shitload of lies about Lisa, I don't want to hear it, okay?" House told him angrily. "She's probably some spiteful ex-friend who wants to fuck up Lisa's life. I can't believe you! Lisa's been your friend through thick and thin and this is how you express your gratitude?"

"House, I didn't want to believe anything bad about Cuddy!" Wilson defended. "I argued with Roberta until I was blue in the face. The evidence she had to show me was irrefutable. Hell, even after knowing what I know I don't hate Cuddy—I just don't want you to make the mistake of marrying her until you hear what this woman has to say."

The car pulled up to an oval just out front of the mansion and came to a stop. Wilson turned off the car and turned in his seat to face the older man, who was glowering at him.

"Don't judge me for this, House," Wilson told him quietly. "If the situation was reversed you would have hired a private investigator to find someone like Roberta Chalmers in order to protect me—just like you did with Sam."

House's expression changed from anger to disbelief with a hint of guilt on the side. Wilson knew, had likely known all along, but how?

"Don't look so surprised," the oncologist told him. "When I saw Lucas enter your office that day holding a parcel, I knew something was up. I caught him after your meeting before he left the hospital and demanded to know if he was threatening you again. I had to, uh…hit him after he told me that you were screwing Sam behind my back and those were the pictures with which he was blackmailing you."

"Lucas told you—? And you believed him? You honestly thought I would betray you like that—with the harpy no less?" House asked incredulously, shivering at the mere thought of touching Samantha Carr. He was hurt by the fact that Wilson would even entertain the thought.

"I didn't believe that you and Sam were having an affair," Wilson assured him, shaking his head, "but I was concerned that he might have trumped something up to blackmail you with so I went to your office to talk to you but you were gone when I got there. The parcel was in the trash can so I…I took it out and back to my office. That's when I realized that you had hired Lucas to dig up dirt on Sam. At first I was furious with you, but I realized that you had chosen not to even look at the dirt he'd found, much less use it against her—that's why it had been in the trash unopened. You wanted to protect me from her but you also wanted me to be happy. So I forgave you."

House thought back to that entire situation, and rued ever having thrown the parcel away, knowing now that she would end up breaking Wilson's heart again and he may have been able to prevent Wilson that pain had he actually taken a look at what Lucas had brought him. Of course, he didn't say that to Wilson now.

"I didn't seek out Roberta with the intent of finding dirt on Cuddy so I could break the two of you up," Wilson went on. "She fell into my lap unsolicited, so to speak. Now, she's kindly offered her home as a place for us to stay tonight and I've asked her to show you what she showed me while we're here. Then tomorrow we reach our destination."

"So this isn't it?" House inquired, surprised. "We're going on to somewhere else yet?"

Nodding, the younger man replied, "Once we get there you'll understand; then it's up to you to decide what you want, House. Do you want to go back to Princeton and marry Cuddy and lie when you take your vows because you're in love with me? Or, after years of loving me and knowing that I love you, too, do you want to tochoose to be with me and give us a chance? You'll have to choose—this is the real world. You can't have your cake and eat it, too."

House said nothing to that, but simply stared into Wilson's beautiful eyes and imagined what it would be like to wake up every morning to those eyes looking across a pillow at him lovingly. Was it worth the risks involved?

As they had sat there talking two household employees had come out of the mansion to stand by House's door, waiting to grab their luggage and welcome them into the dwelling for their employer.

"Well," Wilson said with a sigh, "it's time for you to meet Roberta."


	16. Chapter 16

**Title: ****Held Hostage**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy, random characters from canon and OCs/House/Cuddy established; House/Wilson Pre-slash/slash.

**A/N: **This story runs AU, what I would like to see happen if House and Cuddy should ever plan to get married. I'm sick of Huddy already—it's completely ruined the show—so if you like Huddy, then you'll hate this and you might as well move along to another fic.

**Also,** I want to give a big thank you to **George Stark II** for being my ever patient beta!

**Genre:** Drama/Romance.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story involves spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season Seven, Ep. Ten.

**Word Count: **~2900

**Rating: M (NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, violence, drug and alcohol use, and explicit sexuality.

**Held Hostage**

Chapter Sixteen

Wilson got out of the car to face the servants waiting for them.

"Uh, hi," Wilson said with a smile. He popped the trunk to the car.

"Welcome back, Dr. Wilson," the butler told him crisply, gesturing to one of the men with him to grab the luggage. "Ms. Chalmers had to run out on an errand and she apologizes for not being here to greet you but she'll be back shortly. In the meantime, allow me to show you and your traveling companion inside and to your accommodations for the evening."

"Thanks, Porter," Wilson acknowledged with a nod. He stuck his head inside the car. "Getting out or do you plan on sleeping in here tonight?"

"I was considering it," House told him evenly. "What the hell, we're here anyway. Might as well get this over with." He opened the car door and climbed out, groaning slightly from the complaints being made by his ruined thigh.

"Porter, this is Dr. Gregory House," Wilson introduced as he rounded the front of the car and joined House on the walkway with his friend. "House, this is Porter, Roberta's butler."

House didn't look impressed and said nothing. Wilson was thankful for his silence; he didn't want to be smoothing out ruffled feathers this early in their visit.

"This way, gentlemen," Porter told them and led them through the massive double doors into the mansion. Behind them the other servant carried their suitcases and followed behind. Wilson could see House looking around at the opulently decorated home as they walked out of the expansive foyer into the main hall. If one looked to the right he could see into the Great Room, and the black grand piano therein. The oncologist smiled slightly when he saw his best friend's eye drawn to it almost immediately, as if he was preternaturally attuned to the energy signature of any musical instrument in his immediate environment. Perhaps, in some strange way, Wilson reasoned silently, he was.

The massive spiral staircase leading up to the second floor, with its mahogany rails and banisters, luxurious burgundy crushed velvet stairs, and colossal three-tiered crystal chandelier at the top was definitely the centerpiece of the front of the house. As they reached the staircase Porter stopped and turned to look at House.

"Sir, if it would be more appropriate to your need, there is an elevator located in the kitchen I can show you—"

"The staircase is fine," the diagnostician told him coldly. There was that old pride that had been missing for months now making a welcome appearance, as far as Wilson was concerned. He knew that his older friend resented being treated differently due to his disability since House had never completely come to terms with the fact that he was disabled. He knew it, of course, but Wilson knew that he would never accept it. There were at least twenty stairs and the younger man wondered if House could make it all the way up without somehow overstraining his leg but he knew better than to argue with him when it came to his mobility.

House used the left-hand side banister and his cane in his right. With determination he made it up to the second floor landing on his own, wearing a stoic mask—but Wilson could see the pain he felt in the slight squinting of his eyes and the set of his jaw.

Porter led them down a long corridor to two rooms at the end, the doors opposing each other on either side of said corridor. Wilson recognized the one to his left as the one he'd stayed in before.

"These are your rooms, gentlemen," the butler told them formally. "Should you find anything amiss about them do not hesitate to let myself or any other household employee know and the matter will be taken care of promptly. Feel free, of course to relax downstairs to await Ms. Chalmers's return or I shall call on you in your rooms if you prefer."

"Thank you," Wilson acknowledged pleasantly.

"Now toddle off and do whatever it is you do," House told him impudently. There was a practiced lack of reaction on the butler's part as he left them and returned to the staircase.

Wilson gave him a glare. "House, was that necessary?"

Looking at him innocently the older man replied, "Is the sky blue? Is your underwear purple? Interesting choice in color, by the way."

Sighing in resignation Wilson looked to the servant carrying their suitcases and took his from him. "I'll take care of mine, thanks. Go get settled in and put up your leg, House. I'm going to do very much the same."

Wilson entered his room and shut the door behind him. It was a large room that included a king-sized four-poster bed and matching bedroom furniture and a small sitting area with a two-seater sofa and armchair in front of what looked like a real wood-burning fireplace. There was a private bathroom with separate shower and soaker tub and sizable closet. Everything was top of the line and tastefully chosen. He set his suitcase down near the door and then walked stiffly to the bed, kicked off his shoes and then lay down on top of the bedding to rest until their host returned home. He didn't intend to fall asleep but he did.

When he woke up an indiscriminate amount of time later he opened his eyes to see House's face less than a foot from his. He recoiled in surprise, instantly alert. A small cry left him before he exhaled in disgust and relaxed back against his pillow again.

"House, what the hell?"

"Hi, Wilson. You told me to put my leg up, remember?" was the diagnostician's response. He cocked his head slightly, an analytical expression on his face. "You look stressed out even when you're sleeping—especially lately. Do you ever relax completely?"

"Asks the man who sneaks into my room and watches me while I'm sleeping like some obsessed stalker!" Wilson answered sharply.

"I'm not a stalker." House was lying on his side next to the oncologist. "I was bored in my room all alone so I came over here. I knocked but you didn't answer so—"

"So you decided to invite yourself in and see if you could scare the shit out of me," the younger man finished sourly. He sighed heavily. He knew that House hadn't meant any harm, really. The man was simply a menace when bored and he bored very easily. It had to be one of the drawbacks of being a genius.

"How long have I been asleep?" Wilson asked, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Can't be more than twenty minutes." House rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. There was a sadness about him that made Wilson want to reach out and hold him in his arms. He refrained from doing that; Wilson wasn't going to make things harder on himself and become even more attached to House by becoming more physically intimate with him should the diagnostician decide to choose to be with Cuddy when they returned to Princeton.

Wilson nodded in acknowledgement. He felt nauseous and his head was throbbing from a tension headache. And he needed a drink to steady his nerves. Waiting for Roberta to return was for the birds. His nerves felt frazzled after everything that had been said and done between House and him that day. Even so, he had to admit to himself—and only to himself—that it was kind of nice to have his best friend in the same room with him even if they didn't converse. He liked how comfortable he felt around House even in the silence. That had been absent from their friendship for a long time—since before he had asked House to move out of the loft. That had to have been one of the top five biggest mistakes he'd made in his life.

For several minutes all that could be heard was the sound of the two of them breathing. House was the one who broke the silence first.

"Wilson," he said quietly, "if we were to move forward in our relationship and become lovers as well as best friends, how would you envision our relationship being like?"

The younger man, taken aback by the fact that House actually wanted to talk, thought carefully about the question before answering. "I don't see it being much different from the way it is now except for the sex. I see things being very much like they were between us when we first moved into the loft—only perhaps we're just a little bit wiser and it would be more exciting because of the sex. I am actually in love with you, not just in love with the idea of being in love like I was with my ex-wives. I'm already more honest with you than I ever was with them—or even with Amber—though I do admit I could use some improvement in that area. As long as we remain realistic about who we are and don't create a truckload of new expectations of each other I see us working for the long haul. I see us…being fantastic together. It wouldn't always be fun and games…but as long as we accept that going in to a more intimate relationship we'll be okay."

During this Wilson had been careful to keep his eyes on the ceiling except for the odd surreptitious glance in the older man's direction in an attempt to determine what House was thinking from his physical 'tells.' House had continued to stare at the ceiling, although Wilson figured he'd been observed on the sly by his friend as well.

"Would you be willing to be open about us?" House asked next. "No shame, no hiding, no denial? The people who know us would be aware immediately that we were together as lovers as well as friends? Because if I had permission to grab your ass in public you know I would, and often."

Wilson couldn't keep himself from chuckling at that. "Only when I wasn't pawing you."

"Keep talking like that and I'm gonna jump you here and now," the diagnostician told him, turning his face toward him. House was smiling but the younger man figured he was only half-joking. Wilson was tempted to continue telling him in explicit terms just what exactly he wanted to do to him, how, and with what. … He was getting hard just thinking about it.

"Why the questions, House? Are you saying that you want to be with me?"

He could see the conflict taking place inside of his older friend. House was terrified of something having to do with the two of them taking that step over the imaginary line that existed between being more than best friends and becoming lovers. Wilson knew that House wanted to but was being held back.

There was a knock on the bedroom door. Wilson sighed silently, knowing that House would take this as his opportunity to avoid answering his question.

"Yes?" Wilson responded sharply enough to raise House's eyebrows.

"Dr. Wilson," Porter's voice came through the door, "Ms. Chalmers has returned and dinner will be served in fifteen minutes. Shall I call on Dr. House, sir?"

"Don't bother," House called. "Dr. House is in bed with Dr. Wilson."

There was a brief pause before the butler responded. "Very good, then." His soft footsteps could be heard retreating from the door.

Wilson glared at his best friend, uncertain whether to be annoyed or amused.

"What?" House asked innocently. "I am."

"They dress for dinner here." Wilson rolled his eyes, wearily rolling to a sitting position on the edge of the bed and rubbing his face with his hands. "You'd better be quick, House. I was in a hurry when I packed for us so our tuxes from the wedding haven't been hung out but don't worry, Roberta believes in being prepared for her visitors. Check the closet in your room."

House groaned as he rose from Wilson's bed and headed for his own room.

"Okay, but if there isn't a hooker in there I'll be less than impressed with her preparations."

Wilson watched him go then went to his own closet to see what was there for him to wear.

Thirteen minutes later Wilson was dressed in a black dinner jacket, soft, folded collared white shirt with a black bow tie, black cummerbund, black single-striped trousers, black dress socks and black patent leather court shoes buffed to a brilliant shine. The cufflinks and shirt studs looked like they were made of genuine white gold. Everything was of top quality. He smiled, thinking about what House's reaction would be to putting on a 'monkey suit' just for evening dinner and imagined him bucking the system by showing up in one of his vintage rock T-shirts, faded blue jeans and Nikes.

He double checked his hair and quick shave job, straightened his tie (even though it was already straight) and then went to check on House. He knocked lightly on the door.

"Who is it?"

"Me," Wilson replied. "Are you decent?"

"Absolutely not," House responded. "Get your ass in here."

Smiling, Wilson entered House's room, finding him identically dressed as him, except he was fumbling with his tie. He turned around to face Wilson; the sight took his breath away. The tuxedo fit him perfectly, as if it had been tailor-made for him. He had quickly showered—his hair was still slightly damp and combed, though his natural wave was taking over—and trimmed his beard (but didn't get rid of it completely). He smiled rakishly at Wilson, causing the younger man's knees to feel weak. He'd seen House in dress wear before for hospital fundraisers and the like but tonight…tonight he looked extraordinarily handsome and sexy.

Wilson realized that he'd been staring a moment too long and forced a smirk onto his face. "That's a better tux than the one you were going to wear for your wedding."

"Don't blame me," House told him, "Cuddy made all of the arrangements. She even picked out both wedding bands. If I hadn't beaten her to it she probably would have picked out her own engagement ring—which, come to think of it, would have saved me a lot of time and anxiety."

"Here, quit fidgeting with that," Wilson told him, growing frustrated watching House fumble with his tie. He untied House's attempt and then stood behind him, raised himself on his toes so he could see properly, reached around, and retied it. "You should know how to tie one of these already."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" House quipped, staring at Wilson in the mirror with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. "But then I wouldn't get to have you press up close to my back or feel your breath tickle my neck when you remind me that I should know how to tie one of these."

Wilson's fingers froze as he looked at House's smug reflection. He'd been had. All these years, and the only reason why House had never learned to tie his own bow tie was because he wanted him close to him, making contact; touching without overtly doing so. Wilson couldn't help but grin. House matched him.

"You're devious," House was told as Wilson finished with his tie, lingered perhaps a moment too long and then backed away.

"Go on," House said. "I'll blush."

"You? Never."

"Well then," the older man smirked and said, "you will."

Right away Wilson felt his cheeks warm up just from the mention of blushing. He cursed himself silently and headed for the door to escape House's scrutiny, even if it was only for a moment.

"We should go down."

House grabbed the black dress cane he'd had for his wedding, though he'd been using his usual one that Wilson had packed since then.

"That's too bad," House told him as he limped past Wilson through the door. "Just when things were going up."

"That's 'looking up,' House," the younger man told him semi-reproachfully, following him out of the room and shutting the door behind him.

"Yeah, that too."


	17. Chapter 17

**Title:** **Held Hostage**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy, random characters from canon and OCs/House/Cuddy established; House/Wilson Pre-slash/slash.

**A/N:** This story runs AU, what I would like to see happen if House and Cuddy should ever plan to get married. I'm sick of Huddy already—it's completely ruined the show—so if you like Huddy, then you'll hate this and you might as well move along to another fic.

Also, I want to give a big thank you to **George Stark II** for being my ever patient beta!

**Genre:** Drama/Romance.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story involves spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season Seven, Ep. Ten.

**Word Count:** ~5200 including introduction.

**Rating: M (NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, violence, drug and alcohol use, and explicit sexuality.

**Held Hostage**

Chapter Seventeen

Porter was waiting for House and Wilson at the bottom of the grand staircase. House hated stairs with a passion since losing half of his thigh but he refused to be treated like a cripple, even if he was one. There was no way he was going to use the elevator. He would go down those stairs and he would look good doing it.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from his best friend. Wilson always looked good as far as he was concerned but when he dressed to the nines he looked incredibly debonair and sexy. The diagnostician wanted to grab the younger man's collar and drag him back to his room, tear that tuxedo off of him and then take his time making Wilson howl and beg for more. Just the thought was making him hard and he had to look away and picture Taub and Foreman naked and doing it in a supply closet to calm certain parts of his body down. He didn't look away quickly enough; for a second Wilson's eyes met his and House could see in those chocolate browns that he wasn't the only one smoldering with desire.

House descended the stairs with less difficulty than he'd anticipated; they were shallow steps which didn't require as much flexibility in his legs and hips as normal stairs would.

"We clean up good, don't we Porter?" House asked him with a smirk and a hint of sarcasm. The butler nodded pleasantly while Wilson scowled at him.

"Yes, Doctor. Gentlemen, please follow me."

He took the lead with Wilson and House keeping up the pace. Wilson leaned in towards him and murmured, "Please just behave tonight, House."

"What do I look like, a three year old?" House demanded indignantly.

"Look like a three year old, no," Wilson answered. "Act like one…"

"Keep it up and I'll live up to your expectations," House threatened, throwing him a knowing look. That elicited the desired flash of panic in Wilson's eyes and he smiled to himself; the oncologist was so fun and easy to toy with.

They followed Porter into the great room. It was a massive space with large painted portraits and hanging tapestries on the walls, other artwork on display—paintings, sculptures, mostly—and the centerpiece was a massive hewn stone fireplace. Despite the fact that it was quite warm outside the manor, inside it was air conditioned and actually a little chilly for House's taste. He was glad to see that a moderate fire burned in the hearth and walked over to stand by it. Wilson joined him at the hearth. House allowed his eyes to look over the rest of the room—the expensive furnishings, the thick, plush rugs, a full bar and—the piece de la resistance—a black grand piano. As soon as House's eyes fell upon the instrument a smile graced his lips.

"It's a Steinway," Wilson whispered. That piano was calling to House, begging to have his long, tapered fingers run along its beautiful ebony and ivory keys.

"Gentlemen, perhaps an aperitif before dinner?" Porter suggested from where he had gone to stand at the bar.

"I'll have a dry gin martini, Porter, thank you," Wilson responded pleasantly.

"Make that one for me and zero for him," House countered quickly. "Dr. Wilson has forgotten about the touchy stomach he had earlier and we wouldn't want to upset it before dinner." He cast the oncologist a knowing glare and received a resentful one in return. "Seltzer water will be better for him."

House turned his attention back to the piano, slowly approaching it like he was a photographer trying to get as close as possible to a deer before it startled and bolted away. His fingers hovered just above the burnished surface as he he he walked around it to the playing surface. Each key was delicately worn from decades of tender, loving use but otherwise perfect. He sat down on the bench and adjusted its position before delicately resting his fingers on them. He thought about what to play then smiled a little and began to play Debussy's 'Clair de Lune,' the rich sounds of the fine piano in the excellent acoustics of the room. He glanced up at Wilson, smiling like a kid who was gifted the model airplane he'd been drooling over through the glass of a display case for years. The smile on Wilson's face and the gleam in his eyes were full of affection and indulgence as he stared back.

"You play magnificently, Dr. House," a woman's voice said suddenly from the entryway when the piece he was playing was complete. Both he and Wilson looked over quickly to see the source of the words.

A woman House assumed was Roberta Chalmers stood there with a much younger woman holding onto her arm. Roberta was statuesque, tall, and had a graceful air about her. Her dark blonde hair came down in lose curls to her nearly bare shoulder and pale green eyes rimmed with long, soft eyelashes stared at him with a glimmer of enthusiasm. She wore a classic, spaghetti-strapped little black dress that revealed just the right amount of her long, toned legs. She wasn't particularly beautiful but the way she groomed and carried herself seemed to make up for what she naturally lacked. Sequined black heels made her as tall as Wilson.

The young woman on her arm actually captured more of House's attention than Roberta did. She was perhaps twenty, twenty-five at the very most, with chin length deep brown hair, startlingly blue-grey eyes, a very pretty, angular face and a square chin. The moment he saw her House had diagnosed cerebral palsy but her case was a mild one and it was only evident when she walked, which likely explained her grasp on Roberta's arm. She was tall, like Roberta, but a little on the gangly side, with her long arms and legs. She wore a blue cocktail dress that served to punch up the blue of her eyes.

"I'm proficient," House told her.

"Perhaps after dinner you can honor us with a little more of your proficiency," she told him, leading the younger woman further into the room. Roberta approached Wilson warmly, with familiarity.

"It's so good to see you again, James," she said with a grin, taking both of the oncologist's hands in her own and placing a faux-kiss on his cheek, a courtesy to prevent the transfer of her red lipstick. Wilson grinned back at her with that smooth, be-dimpled charm that struck a chord of jealousy in House. "You really need to visit me more often!"

"I'd love to but it's not that easy to get away from the hospital," he answered her. She frowned slightly.

"I forgot for a moment that you work for her. My sympathies, again," their host told him.

"Hello, Jayne," Wilson said, addressing the younger woman standing there and smiling at him shyly. House rolled his eyes—yet another girl with a crush on his best friend, not that he could blame her. He'd crushed on Wilson the moment he first saw him.

"Hello, Dr. Wilson," she answered with just the slightest evidence of a lisp which likely would have been missed by anyone but House. "How are you?"

"I'm doing very well," he told her. He stepped toward House now. "Thank you for asking. I'd like to introduce both of you to my best friend, Dr. Gregory House. House, this is Roberta Chalmers and her niece Jayne."

Roberta extended a hand to him. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Doctor," she said to him with a pleasant smile. "James has told me a great deal about you."

House glanced at her hand, uncertain about this woman who apparently had something to reveal to him about his fiancée. Still, he didn't want to disappoint Wilson so he took her hand and shook it briefly. "None of what he told you is true. I'm worse than that."

He directed his attention quickly to the attractive young woman and actually offered his hand to her; he didn't see the look of surprise that Wilson gave him.

"It's nice to meet you, Jayne," House said quietly with a hint of a smile. She looked at him curiously before smiling bashfully and shaking his hand.

"Thank you, Dr. House. It's nice to meet you too."

Porter came around with a tray of drinks. House took his martini, Wilson grudgingly picked up his seltzer water, Roberta had a gimlet and Jayne had what looked like a screwdriver. The butler then retreated and blended into the background again.

"James tells me that you're the best at what you do, Dr. House," Roberta said conversationally after taking a sip from her glass. House was watching Jayne as the girl withdrew from the conversation and took a seat on a nearby tête-à-tête bench near a window with her back to him. There was a slight shift to her walk but it was nothing that significantly prohibited mobility. "What exactly does a diagnostician do?"

House barely heard her but before Wilson could clear his throat to grab his attention he turned back to look at their host to answer frankly, "I diagnose people."

Peripherally he could see Wilson roll his eyes.

Roberta laughed. "Of course! All doctors do to some extent, don't they? But as a specialist at it there must be more to it than simply telling an overreacting mother that her child has a cold, isn't there?"

"Actually, more and more lately that's exactly what I get tossed my way," House groused. "Excuse me?"

Before Roberta or Wilson could say anything to that he turned and limped over to the tête-à-tête bench. He could hear Wilson rushing in to save the conversation by explaining to Roberta that House had been talking about clinic duty, going on to describe to her the work that he really did. House couldn't have cared less. There was something indefinable about Jayne that had captured his curiosity and wouldn't let go. He stood behind her to see what it was she was looking at. On the lawn there was a cat stalking a wild gander that had decided to take a break from flying and enjoy the fountain on the expansive lawn. The tortoiseshell would get within striking distance of the large bird before the goose would suddenly turn and fly at the cat beating its large, powerful wings at it. The cat would jump and race away, the gander would return to its bathing and then the stalking would begin anew and repeat itself over and over.

"That cat's going to get its bell rung yet," House commented with an amused smirk.

Jayne turned in her seat to look up at him. A smile toyed at her lips.

"Yancy has twenty-seven lives," she answered and House assumed she was talking about the feline. "He must—he's already used up twenty-six of them and he's not even two years old. But that goose will never catch him. He plays this game with other birds, too, but I haven't actually seen him catch one, yet."

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" he asked her, patting his ruined thigh. "My leg's a little sore from car travel."

"No, not at all," she answered politely. He lowered himself into the Victorian-style seat (though by its appearance he wondered if it didn't legitimately date back to the eighteen-hundreds). "Dr. Wilson told me a little about you on his previous visits."

"He's a liar," House told her with a smirk.

Jayne shook her head. There was something about the way she did that… "So you're not brilliant and world-renowned?"

"Oh, that part," the diagnostician replied, "I thought you were talking about the story he tells people about my being a boring jerk. I'm not boring at all."

She chuckled, shaking her head at him again.

"I also don't abide by social conventions," he told her. "Like refraining from asking a woman how old she is."

"Twenty-four," Jayne answered, amused. "How old are you?"

"How old do you think I am?" he answered her question with a question.

She squinted a moment as if measuring him up and then answered, "Fifty?"

"You're pretty good," he answered with a frown, "unfortunately. You could have lied and told me that I looked forty-five. I'm actually fifty-one for a few months left."

"Are you trying to pick me up?" she asked him warily.

He chuckled and shook his head. "Sorry, I have underwear that's older than you. I draw the line at Kindergarten." He was about to say more when Porter reappeared and announced that dinner was served. House downed his martini in two swallows, set his glass aside, and then rose to his feet. He of all people knew better than to offer Jayne a hand unless she asked for it, which she didn't.

As the party of four followed the butler into the dining room Wilson sidled up to House and glared at him suspiciously.

"What are you up to, House?" he asked softly.

House captured his gaze and answered matter-of-factly, "Getting acquainted with Cuddy's daughter, what else?"

He kept walking when Wilson stopped short. House could almost feel his best friend's stare burn into the back of his head. He smiled to himself, satisfied with stealing Wilson's thunder.

The ultra-rich and tasteful decorating job of the large room complemented the eighteen-foot-long solid mahogany dinner table surrounded by sixteen velvet-upholstered mahogany chairs: seven armless along each side and two armed chairs, one at each end. It was set with highly polished silverware and a three candle candelabra. Fine bone china and crystal stemware completed the table. There were four places set, all at the one end which House was relieved to see. He didn't feel like sitting at one end and having to shout to converse with the host at the other end.

Along the far wall, in the center, was another large, stone, wood-burning fireplace.

Wilson caught up quickly with the rest; he and House found their designated places beside each other and sat down. The butler held the chair for Roberta but Jayne took care of herself. While Roberta and Porter were discussing something about dinner Wilson leaned towards House.

"You knew?" he whispered, astonished.

"Not for certain until I sat with her," House replied. "When she gave me a suspicious look I saw Cuddy sitting there. Guess I know what Roberta has to tell me."

"Not everything," Wilson replied and then withdrew. House glanced sideways at his best friend, looking for a sign that he was kidding and not seeing one.

The meal was absolutely delicious. Wilson, however, wasn't pleased with House's swiftness to free him of his glass of wine and push an extra water glass his way and asking the maid serving them for a glass of milk for him. In spite of House's opposition to what he suspected was Roberta's agenda he actually found the conversation interesting. Roberta's family had built the manor in the eighteen-tens and had occupied it ever since. Part of the mansion had been burned in the fires that had ravaged Atlanta during the Civil War and later restored to its former stateliness.

Roberta was a defense lawyer, a partner in the most prestigious practice in Atlanta, and tales she told from her experiences were entertaining. Jayne was taking a year off from her studies to become an acoustical engineer due to some health issues which she was not bashful talking about but wasn't in a hurry to volunteer; House was relieved by that since he was used to people trying to solicit his expert medical opinion when they knew he was a doctor; he was certain Wilson had had similar experiences.

After dessert Roberta, House, and Wilson retired to the study over snifters of fine cognac (Wilson was able to grab one before his personal sobriety league managed to intercept) but Jayne excused herself, claiming to be tired with a headache, and retired to her room. Once they were seated in rich leather chairs next to yet another lit fireplace House spoke up.

"It seems that I've already figured out exactly what it is you wanted to tell me concerning Lisa Cuddy. I know that Jayne is her daughter."

Roberta raised an eyebrow and looked at Wilson. The oncologist swirled his cognac before speaking.

"I didn't tell him anything. He figured it out on his own. It is what he does for a living…but he knows only half of it."

Roberta seemed to understand Wilson's cryptic explanation, but it was beginning to annoy House, who was getting sick and tired of secrets.

"I really couldn't care less," the diagnostician informed them. "We weren't together then and what she did or didn't do during that time is irrelevant to me."

Smiling, Roberta sipped her drink and then responded. "If I told you that you are Jayne's father, would you still find it irrelevant, Dr. House?"

House looked immediately at Wilson for confirmation, unable to believe what he'd just been told. Wilson's expression was somber, even a little guilty when he nodded.

"It's true, House," Wilson told him. "Please, just listen to her story. It's something you really should hear."

"So help me, Wilson," House said, finding it difficult to restrain himself, "if this turns out to be some baseless lie—"

"It's no lie, Doctor," Roberta told him firmly. "I have documentation to back up everything, including a paternity test that proves that there is a 99.99 percent certainty that you are Jayne's father. Before you ask, James managed to obtain a sample of your DNA and insisted on the test before he would believe me. The ethical implications can be discussed later. Do you want to finally know the truth or remain in ignorance and denial and marry a woman who has lied to you and kept you in the dark for twenty-five years?"

House had glared angrily at Wilson upon learning what he'd done but couldn't remain angry. He knew that he would have done the same thing in order to protect his best friend from fraud.

House remained silent. This couldn't be. There was no way that young woman could be his and Cuddy's child, was there? DNA was nearly impossible to dispute but... Twenty-five years ago he'd been a med school student and Cuddy had been an undergrad at Michigan State. There had only been the one night, after a frat party he'd crashed…they both had been drinking a fair amount. She had confessed to stalking him around campus and he had lied to her about noticing her too because he had wanted to fuck her in the worst way and she'd been a little hesitant at first…it had just been sex, hot, sweaty, passionate and good but it hadn't been some romantic moment where they fell in love with each other. At least, he hadn't fallen for her. That version was a creation of Cuddy's imagination. She had been cute and good in bed, gave great head and he hadn't been opposed to calling her again but it wasn't like it had been love at first fuck or anything…But had they used protection? He remembered asking her about birth control…she'd said she was on the pill…there had been a lot of necking and heavy petting before…

He couldn't remember wearing a condom. In fact, the more he thought about it the more he became certain that he hadn't. He remembered fumbling for one in his pocket, his wallet…and he hadn't had one. She'd told him not to worry about it, that she trusted him, she was clean, and she was on the pill…he'd been too far along to bother to stop and…

House closed his eyes momentarily and sighed at his past stupidity. He hadn't bothered calling her for another date because the next day he'd been expelled and he hadn't really thought about her again until he sat in front of her at the interview for his job at PPTH. At first he hadn't recognized her as the coed that gave good—no, great—head. Then she had mentioned that they had both attended Michigan and he had recalled who she was. He never knew exactly why she hired him with his colorful educational and job history but suspected that it had been due to pity and her memory of their one night stand…damn, he must have been great that night…

Jayne had Cuddy's eyes, some of her facial expressions, but her face was angular and her chin was square like his. She was lanky like him, had his build. Was that what had drawn him to her the moment she'd walked into the room? Had he subconsciously seen himself in her?

"House?" Wilson said softly and he felt a hand on his shoulder, a rare form of physical contact between them. He realized that the younger man knelt in front of him, a look of concern creasing his brow. "Are you okay?"

Shaking his head House gradually met his gaze. "DNA doesn't lie, Wilson," was all he could say. The oncologist nodded and squeezed his shoulder gently before standing up and returning to his chair. The gesture was one that still surprised him since in the past he and the oncologist had had an unspoken rule not to touch, but that obviously had changed. He secretly was glad. House faced Roberta again. She looked at him with compassion and patience.

"Okay," House said with a nod, "I'm listening."

…

The story had been painfully straightforward. Cuddy had been dating Roberta's older brother Roger at the time of her post-party romp with House, despite the fact that she'd told him that she wasn't dating anyone—not that that would have stopped House from doing her. House left Michigan and Cuddy had gone back to dating Roger without him knowing about her little one-timer. That week and a half in which their sexual rendezvous had taken place Roger had been traveling with the men's basketball team and hadn't been anywhere near Ann Arbor. When Cuddy discovered two months later that she was pregnant her first thought was to call the campus's free clinic and make an appointment for an abortion; something had held her back but she had never said what. After her first ultrasound at twelve weeks they said her conception date had been during that week Roger hadn't been around. She'd reconsidered her decision not to get an abortion without ever telling Roger that she was pregnant but Lucinda had found out and threatened to tell their mother. If the rabbi would have objected to the idea of an abortion (as their rabbi, she knew, would have) then Arlene would have been opposed to it as well. A couple of weeks later, after she fainted while on her way across campus to one of her classes, Roger found out about the pregnancy.

Cuddy lied to Roger about how far along she was, telling him that she was only twelve weeks pregnant when she was more like fourteen and a half. He'd insisted on marrying Cuddy who at first thought it was a good idea and they had eloped…and she had the marriage annulled as soon as she could after. She'd told Roger that she had plans for her life that didn't involve having his baby and had left, transferring to a different med school. Roger lost touch with her, heartbroken, believing that she'd terminated the pregnancy. A little less than ten months later Cuddy showed up in Atlanta with an infant daughter. She told Roger that there had been complications during the birth resulting in the baby having CP (House wondered if there hadn't been some kind of damage done to her at the same time that had made it so difficult for her to carry another pregnancy to term years later). She'd told him that she was going to give the baby up for adoption because she couldn't raise a disabled child and complete medical school on her own. She gave him the option of raising his daughter if he wanted to; otherwise she was going to give her up for adoption. Roger had had no intention of allowing someone else raise what he thought at the time was his child. Cuddy had signed over all rights to Jayne and then left, never to so much as call and ask about her again.

Roger doted on Jayne. When she was three years old, however, she'd become deathly ill and her only hope had been a bone marrow transplant. Despite knowing that the chances of him matching his own daughter were slim to none, much less anyone else, he and the rest of their family had been tested for a possible match anyway. None of them had come close at all and eventually a non-related match in an international registry had come up to save her but out of that experience Roger had had a paternity test run. It had returned excluding him as her father with a ninety-nine-point-nine percent certainty.

It hadn't mattered to Roberta's brother, who had already fallen in love with the pretty, precocious little girl and had considered her his regardless. Jayne was never told that Roger wasn't her father. Her Aunt Roberta, however, had been outraged that Cuddy would hurt Roger like she had then dump the child on him and lie to him about her paternity when she had to have known full well that Jayne was House's. Hiring a private detective Roberta had learned the truth but by then Roger had died in a car accident leaving custody of Jayne to his only sibling. Jayne still didn't know that her mother had lied and still believed that Roger had been her father.

"Unless you want her to know, Dr. House," Roberta told him as she finished the story and showed him the birth certificate, the medical data and the papers Cuddy had signed, "she never has to know the truth."

House agreed that as far as Jayne was concerned he was simply a visitor who had come to see her aunt one day. He didn't see the need to disrupt her life anymore than it already had been by proclaiming paternity this late in the game. She was content, even happy, believing that Roger Chalmers had been her doting father; who was he to take that away from her?

Much later, House lay in bed, unable to sleep. He was still stunned by what he'd found out that day. He couldn't believe that Cuddy would deceive and hurt a man that way, and then just abandon her daughter like she had. It angered him to know that that entire time he was giving her injections to help her become pregnant she hadn't once come clean about their daughter but had led him to believe that she had never had any kids and now wanted one in vitro. Even now, engaged to be married, Cuddy was keeping Jayne a secret from him but gave him a hard time about his lying about one of his patients to her.

If he'd known shortly after she had been born that Jayne was his, would he have done anything differently with his life, or would he simply have shrugged it off as none of his concern and continued on as normal? He wasn't certain he wanted to know the answer to that question. If the same thing were to occur now, he knew he would want to know his daughter, to know that he wasn't all alone in the world and neither was she.

There was a soft knock on his door.

"Come in, Wilson," House answered, having expected him to come by to check on him nearly an hour ago.

The door opened and the oncologist entered, shutting the door silently behind him. He found his way in the dark to House's bed and then sat on the edge of it. House could faintly see him in the light of the nearly full moon shining through the window.

"Can't sleep?" he asked. House rolled his eyes at the typically Wilsonian habit of stating the obvious.

"Actually, I'm talking in my sleep," House retorted dryly.

"I can't sleep either," Wilson told him with a sigh. "I want to go downstairs and raid the bar."

"And you're hoping I'll keep you from doing that?" House asked him seriously. "Or are you inviting me to join you?"

"The first one, yeah," his best friend admitted with a sigh. "Uh, I'm not trying to force myself on you, House but I was wondering if perhaps I—"

House turned down the blanket and scooted over before Wilson could finish, saying, "Get in."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Wilson climbed into the bed next to House but was careful not to touch him, not wanting House to think that he was trying to take advantage of the situation. The diagnostician also needed to have Wilson close, though.

"Come closer, idiot. I won't bite."

"But House, I…" Wilson began to protest then wiggled closer until the side of his body came into contact with the side of House's. Feeling Wilson touching him was instantly soothing for the older man. House sighed impatiently and pulled Wilson into his arms without touching anywhere below the waist; the younger man rested his head on House's shoulder, his warm breath tickling the older man's neck.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah…I have a kid, Wilson."

"I know."

"Do you think Roberta would mind if I came with you to visit again sometime?"

"I think she'd love it. I'm proud of you, House."

"Why?"

He could feel Wilson smile. "If I knew I had a daughter out there somewhere and I had the opportunity to let her know who I was, I don't know if I would put my selfish interests aside for her happiness. I'd want her to know that I was her father, even if it threw her into confusion or caused her pain."

"No you wouldn't," House told him with certainty.

"How do you know?"

House squeezed Wilson a little tighter for a moment.

"I just know."

Wilson was quiet for a moment and then murmured, "So you're not angry at me for bringing you here?"

"If I was angry, would I be holding you like this?"

"No. I guess not…why are you holding me?"

"Because I'm cold. Body heat."

"Oh," Wilson responded, not sounding convinced.

"Goodnight, Wilson."

"Goodnight, House."

It wasn't long before they were both asleep.


	18. Chapter 18

**Title: ****Held Hostage**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy, random characters from canon and OCs/House/Cuddy established; House/Wilson Pre-slash/slash.

**A/N:** This story runs AU, what I would like to see happen if House and Cuddy should ever plan to get married. I'm sick of Huddy already—it's completely ruined the show—so if you like Huddy, then you'll hate this and you might as well move along to another fic.

Also, I want to give a big thank you to George Stark II for being my ever patient beta!

**Genre: **Drama/Romance.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story involves spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season Seven, Ep. Ten.

**Word Count:** ~5200 including introduction.

**Rating: M (NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, violence, drug and alcohol use, and explicit sexuality.

**Held Hostage**

Chapter Eighteen

Cuddy answered the door to find Lucinda standing there with Rachel, holding the child's hand. Grinning broadly Cuddy picked up her daughter and hugged her, enjoying the feel of her child in her arms after the day she'd had.

"Thank you for watching her," Cuddy said gratefully.

"No problem," Lucinda assured her. "She's always welcome. Uh, can I have a word with you about your fiancé's situation?"

"Sure," Cuddy agreed. To Rachel: "Why don't you go and pick out two," Cuddy held up two fingers with Rachel mimicking her, "of your movies you want to watch with Mommy."

"Two," Rachel repeated with a nod. "One, two. Okay."

Cuddy set her down and watched the child hurry away. Once she was out of earshot Cuddy turned back to her sister, who was still standing in the doorway. "Come in. Would you like some tea?"

"No, I can't stay. I was just wondering what was happening with House and Dr. Wilson," Lucinda told her. "Any new leads?"

Nodding, Cuddy answered with a sigh, "I got a cryptic phone call this morning from one of the people who kidnapped them."

Lucinda froze, her jaw literally dropping in astonishment, her eyes blinking rapidly. She paled several shades and Cuddy began to think she was going faint. It was big news, but certainly not shocking enough to cause this kind of reaction in a woman who didn't even like House and didn't know Wilson from a hole in the ground.

"Lucinda?" Cuddy said quizzically. "I think you need to sit down."

"No, I—I—"

"Sit," Cuddy insisted, leading her by the arm to the living room and forcing her down into an armchair. Rachel had decided to quietly play with her doll on the sofa rather than select DVDs to watch. Once Lucinda was safely sitting down Cuddy went to the kitchen and filled a glass with cool water; she took it to her sister and put it into her hands. "Drink."

Bringing the glass up to her mouth Cuddy's sister took a couple of swallows before screwing up her face and handing it back. "I'd rather have bourbon."

Grinning, Cuddy set the glass down on a coaster on the coffee table. "Sorry, you've got a three hour drive home. Get drunk in your own house." She sobered. "Are you okay?"

The other woman looked less shocked and more baffled now. "Lisa, when did you receive that call?"

"This morning. The voice was morphed so I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. They told me to race to the hospital and get to Wilson's office or they'd harm them. There was another note and call there that told me to go to Wilson's loft unaccompanied in a certain amount of time or one of them would be killed." Cuddy sat down on the sofa and immediately Rachel came to her and sat on her lap. She put a protective arm around her daughter. "I demanded proof that House and Wilson were still alive and they put Wilson on the phone."

"Wilson talked to you?" Lucinda asked in disbelief. "You're sure it was him?"

"I know Wilson's voice over the phone," Cuddy confirmed. "God knows he's called me often enough to tell me that House got himself into one kind of trouble or another. He told me that they were both still alive. When I demanded to talk to House, Wilson said that he was hurt too badly to speak. I'm scared, Lucinda. Wilson sounded terrified and before he left the phone he started to scream like someone was torturing him. So I rushed to the loft like I was told."

Frowning as she thought about what her sister was telling her Lucinda then asked, "So you only confirmed for certain that Wilson was still alive, not House?"

Cuddy nodded. "Yes, but I believe Wilson—he wouldn't lie to me about something like that."

"He wouldn't huh? Hmm…" Lucinda's eyes narrowed suspiciously. This wasn't lost on Cuddy who began to wonder if her sister knew more than she had told her and the police.

"Why do you look like that? Lucinda, is there something you haven't told me?"

Immediately the other woman looked at Cuddy and shook her head emphatically. "No, no it's nothing like that. I've told you what I know it's just that…well something smells fishy to me. Anyway, what happened when you got to Wilson's place?"

Fighting the impulse to scowl, Cuddy related to her the message that had been left for her including the riddle. She also added the part about not involving the police and that the kidnapper said that she was being watched to check for compliance.

"I had no clue what the riddle meant," she told Lucinda, shaking her head in bewilderment. "I just knew that I had to risk informing the police because I can't do this on my own. I went back to the hospital for a while and called the detective in charge of the case with what I knew. Someone from the Princeton police came by the hospital to pick up the tape from the answering machine for analysis, took my statement, and then told me to let them know if the kidnapper contacted me again. They said they would take care of the situation."

Nodding, Lucinda still appeared confused, her eyebrows knit together as she thought. "Do you have any idea where the riddle is telling you to go? Any guess?"

Cuddy sighed. There was a message aimed at her in the riddle that went beyond the actual clue itself and that had been occupying her mind more than where she was supposed to be at midnight.

"No…I don't know. I'm still thinking, though."

"Are you sure you don't want me to keep Rachel for a couple more days while this is going on?" her sister asked her.

The Dean of Medicine was certain. Rachel was her daughter and her responsibility and she was going to take care of her, crisis or no crisis. Besides, having Rachel near her was comforting somehow. "I'm sure."

With a curt nod, Lucinda stood up. "Well, I really should be going or Ralph will start to worry…if the kids don't drive him around the bend first."

Cuddy walked her to the door. "Thanks again for your help with Rachel."

"You're welcome," Lucinda told her with a weak smile. "Keep me posted, will you?"

"Sure, of course."

Lucinda left and Cuddy shut and locked the door behind her. Something did smell fishy, she decided, and it was emanating from her sister. She was hiding something and Cuddy determined she would find a way to make Lucinda confess what it was.

It took everything she had to walk to her car instead of run. Lucinda got into her vehicle and drove away normally until she was about three blocks away and well out of sight of her sister's house. At that point she pulled over and parked. Scrambling through her purse she found her cell phone and called home. Her hands were shaking, her stomach churning and her mind reeling.

"Hello?"

"Ralph, what the hell are you up to?" Lucinda demanded, on the verge of a panic attack.

"Well hello, Darling! I'm wonderful, thank you for asking. How are you?" came the sarcastic response from her husband. She could hear the sound of their children arguing in the background. Fleetingly she thought about how nice it was that he had to put up with the little monsters for once.

"Can it, Ralph," she told him, annoyed. "Look, have you been pulling pranks with my sister? Calling her pretending to be House's kidnapper who will kill him and his friend if she doesn't run around town like a chicken with its head chopped off solving riddles?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Ralph answered. "Have you been drinking?"

"No, I haven't been drinking," she responded, mimicking his voice derisively. "You're saying you haven't been faking any phone calls?"

"I believe that's what I said. So Lisa has someone calling her?" he asked, sounding confused. "I thought that the only people who knew the truth were you, me and that Wilson guy."

"That's right. Which means House has one sick friend who's torturing my sister," Lucinda told him, scowling in anger. She and Lisa had never been close; Lisa had always resented her because their mother made no attempt to hide that she favored Lucinda. It was Lisa's own fault for thinking that she was so much better than their mother for so long, just because she was a doctor and ran a hospital. However they were still sisters, she loved her (usually) and didn't want to see anybody terrorize her just for the hell of it. That hadn't been part of the deal. She was tempted to tell Lisa the truth.

Ralph whistled through his teeth. "Is he ever gonna be in shit when they get back."

"I hope Lisa fires his ass and makes it impossible for him to get another job anywhere in the country for this," Lucinda growled.

"He'll be in a hell of a lot more trouble than that," Ralph announced seriously. "If he's making threatening phone calls across state lines, it becomes a federal offense. Even if he's able to prove that he didn't actually kidnap House the Feds can get him on that."

Lucinda began to smirk until she realized something. If Wilson got in legal trouble, he could rat them out as accessories. There had to be a law against making false reports to the police, especially when it came to something as serious as kidnapping. It would be his word against theirs about the phone calls but the fact that he would be able to link Ralph and she to helping him carry it off would look very bad for them; very bad indeed.

"Shit!" Lucinda spat, hitting the steering wheel in disgust.

"What?" Ralph demanded. "What now?"

"We can't prove that we're not involved with the phone calls, idiot, so if Wilson goes down there's nothing stopping him from trying to bring us down with him."

"Shit," her husband agreed with a sigh.

"I can't believe I was stupid enough to get involved in something like this," Lucinda bemoaned, rubbing her forehead; she felt a wicked headache coming on. "What do we do?"

Ralph hesitated a moment before answering her. "Well, we don't panic. That's the first thing. Come home—we'll have to sit down and look at our options before we decide anything. My friend Stan's brother is a lawyer. I'll give Stan a call to get his brother's number. Drive carefully."

Lucinda nodded, taking a couple of deep breaths to center herself again. "You're right. That sounds like a plan. I should be home in a little less than three hours. We'll talk more then. Bye."

"Bye," Ralph said in return. She pressed End and dropped the phone back into her purse. What had seemed to be a harmless prank had suddenly snowballed into something that could take her and Ralph down, and all because that son of a bitch Wilson figured it would be fun to make a few prank calls.

Starting the car again, she waited until traffic cleared before pulling away from the curb. She had three Ralph- and child-free hours to think of a way to get them out of this mess with the least amount of personal damage possible.

After reading Rachel three bedtime stories and tucking her in for the night, Cuddy headed for her bedroom. It was only nine o'clock but she had a great deal to think about. In three hours she was supposed to be wherever the riddle told her to be to receive the kidnapper's next call. If she wasn't there then either one or both of the men they had taken could be murdered. It seemed unlikely that the kidnapper would actually do that; House and Wilson were this person's (or persons') bargaining chips. If they no longer lived, the criminals responsible would have nothing to trade for a ransom or other request, whatever it could be. Perhaps one of them might die, but not both. She didn't want either of them to die. It was unthinkable. House was her fiancé but Wilson was her good friend and honestly she had very few of those. Whoever said that it was lonely at the top knew what they were talking about.

So she sat on her bed, leaning against the headboard, her mind going over and over the riddle, picking it apart word for word, syllable by syllable.

_In for a penny, in for a pound…_ The only thing she could make of that was the traditional meaning of the saying. If you're part of something even a little bit, then you're in it all the way. Was that in reference to her, to House and Wilson or to the kidnappers themselves? She had no idea, but there didn't seem enough there yet to indicate a location so she moved on.

…_the place where he finds truth is found… _Well it alluded to a place but no name of a place. A description though...a place where there is truth. And someone—a male—finds it. But who's the male? Could it be the kidnapper? It didn't seem likely. No, she sensed that it was referring to either House or Wilson and seeing as they were taken at House's and her wedding she assumed House had been the one they had wanted and Wilson had bad luck. It was possible she was wrong, but that was the assumption she was going to go with for now. Where would House find truth? Where does anyone find truth? And what truth are they referring to? Truth could be found any number of places. Libraries and schools taught facts and information, but House wasn't a frequenter of either of those places. That may not matter, though. What library or school? She sighed and moved on to the next part.

…_Tricks and lies and one night stands… _Well, she knew what tricks and lies were. Was the kidnapper saying that this was all a trick? That she'd been lied to and House and Wilson weren't in danger? Wait…was this clue telling her that the entire kidnapping had been a trick? On her? Had her suspicions been right after all? Had House and Wilson concocted a scheme to get House out of the wedding and avoid marrying her? Or was she on the wrong train of thought? One night stands. Was this speaking of a particular event or just the concept in general? Did it refer to a one night stand that she'd had or did it refer to either House or Wilson? She'd had a few one night stands, particularly when she was much younger. In fact in college she'd established a reputation for being quite the party girl, roaming from one house party to another to pub crawls and waking up in the strangest places with no idea how she'd got there or what she had done. Good times.

The one night stand that came first and foremost to her mind was the night she and House had spent together. She had been tipsy and House had been, well, House. He'd always been a heavy drinker, even way back then and he'd always been able to hold his liquor incredibly well. Cuddy had no idea how the man's liver hadn't pooped out long before now what with all the alcohol he consumed and then the acetaminophen in the Vicodin he'd popped for years… She'd had a huge crush on him, arranged her classes so that she'd be in the same class or located outside one of his classes when he came out of the lecture hall. He had been tall, handsome, athletic, brilliant and a rebel—and really, what party girl—or girl in general—could resist a handsome, arrogant rebel with incredible charisma?

They both had been at the frat party that night though he had been a crasher because 'fraternities were for losers.' He'd been flirting with several young women that night but the focus of his attention had been on the dark-haired hottie with silver blue eyes and breasts that had been even more impressive than they were now; back then there hadn't been actual push-up bras per se, and her perky twenty year old breasts hadn't needed one.

They had barely made it to her dorm room before they were all over each other, tearing clothes off, their mouths glued together and finding other places to roam. Her roommate had gone home for the long weekend so Cuddy and House had had the room all to themselves. He had been an incredibly attentive and giving lover and it had been like magic, although she had to admit that the magic could have been the booze and half a joint she'd smoked earlier.

That night had stuck with her for the rest of her life thus far in both good and bad ways; she had locked away the bad memories in a vault deep in her psyche that was impenetrable and closed to forget about it.

She had no idea how many one night stands House had had in his life and Wilson? Well, he wasn't known around the hospital as the panty-peeler for nothing. The man was a compassionate, professional, brilliant oncologist by day and a slut by night. At least he had been until Amber. After her death he'd slowed down considerably and then Sam had come along and claimed sole access to his cock. She was gone now, but according to House Wilson wasn't dating, still hurting over his break up with Sam.

She shook her head at herself. How had her mind wandered so far away from the task at hand?

_Abandonment and wedding bands_. The abandonment part didn't really ring any bells with her. She'd never been abandoned in her life unless one considered House never contacting her again after their one night. But in truth, neither one of them had said anything about wanting anything more than sex (though she'd hoped), no promises had been made. He'd taken her number but that was all. And he'd explained to her why he hadn't called her again. It had been just as well. Cuddy had already been dating on and off a handsome senior who had been a socialite, very wealthy and quite well-connected. His father had been the founder of one of the largest health insurance providers in the country and Roger had been studying business administration and economics to take over from his father who had been in poor health for quite some time.

It occurred to her that some would have considered her ending her relationship with Roger like she had as a form of abandonment. And then of course there had been—

No! Cuddy told herself harshly and immediately turned her thoughts to wedding bands. That obviously referred to the wedding. Once again she wondered if she was being told that she'd been abandoned at her wedding by her groom and his best man. It seemed to be a reoccurring theme here. Or perhaps her doubts before receiving the riddle were leading her to see things that simply were not there.

One wrong guess and someone dies… Well, that was really the no-brainer part of the riddle. If she didn't figure out the answer to the clues of the riddle in time either House or Wilson would die. The kidnappers would still have one of them to use as a bargaining chip and the death of the other would terrorize her and the police and convince them that the kidnappers meant business. It sent a chill down her spine.

…_There a sickly child cries…_ A sickly child. What sickly child? Where would a sickly child cry? Where would you find a sickly child..?

She gasped. Well, duh… That had to be it! It was the only place she could think of that made any sense. It was worth a try, anyway. She scrambled to her charging station and grabbed her cell phone, pressing speed dial.

"Hello, Detective Nehrgard? ...This is Dr. Cuddy. I think I know where I'm supposed to go. If I'm right then it was sitting there right in front of our eyes…yes, I think I'm supposed to go to NICU to find the next clue…no, NICU stands for Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. It's where newborns in need of intensive observation and care are taken…You have? What have you found out? Okay. Meet me at the hospital a.s.a.p."

She hung up with him and then called her emergency babysitter.

Cuddy leaned back against her desk, standing in front of the two detectives sitting in the visitor chairs. She looked them over discreetly. Nehrgard, a balding forty-something man and his partner Fiona Tucci, an attractive woman with hair to die for but an overly toothy smile, had been waiting for her when she'd arrived at the hospital.

"We've got two of our people in nursing scrubs sweeping NICU right now to make certain there are no hidden risks there before we let you go in," Nehrgard told her.

Her eyes widening slightly with alarm, the Dean of Medicine replied, "If there is something that could be dangerous in that unit I need to know right away so I can make arrangements to have the infants in there moved to somewhere else in the hospital or transferred. I may have to make arrangements for the entire hospital."

"We don't expect there to be an explosive device or anything like that," Tucci assured her soothingly—which didn't serve to soothe Cuddy at all. "It's simply a precaution."

"I just hope I'm not wrong," Cuddy muttered, biting her lip. She'd been filled with anxiety for so long now she had a tension headache, her stomach hurt and she couldn't stand or sit still for more than a few minutes at a time. "There may be some kind of note or recording in NICU as well."

"Our people will be looking for anything like that. They should almost be done." Nehrgard crossed his right ankle over his left knee. "Are you certain there wasn't a message in any of the other stanzas of the riddle, Dr. Cuddy? There may be clues as to who the perpetrators are or why they're holding Dr. House and Dr. Wilson hostage."

There had been a couple of things that had evoked old, banished feelings and flashes of memory but she refused to bring them back to the surface and she would never tell anyone else. There were things that she had done and sacrificed to get where she was; she wasn't the only woman in history who'd done whatever necessary to get ahead. Well, she'd never murdered or maimed so for the most part, her conscience was clear.

"No," she said with practiced control, "Nothing."

Nehrgard nodded, not questioning the answer but Tucci met her gaze briefly, suspicion clear in her golden brown eyes. Cuddy chose to ignore her.

"Detective Nehrgard, you told me over the phone that you've gotten a lead on the case?" Cuddy inquired, training her eyes on him. "Can you share it with me?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "While investigating Dr. House's and Dr. Wilson's movements in the days before the wedding we served subpoenas for their bank transactions and credit card charges."

Cuddy frowned quizzically. "Why?"

"For example, if someone had been extorting one or both of them before the kidnapping we would likely see withdrawals of larger sums of cash or unusual credit card charges."

Absorbing that information, Cuddy could think of another reason and despite the fact that she wanted to believe otherwise she had to know. "I don't believe this happened, but you could also determine where they were using credit cards, both place and location, couldn't you?"

"Are you suggesting something, Dr. Cuddy?" Tucci asked her, eyeing her distrustfully.

Hesitating, Cuddy said slowly, "What if this wasn't a kidnapping? What if it's a hoax or prank carried out by my fiancé and his friend? Say…" she sighed quietly, "…House got cold feet and he and Wilson planned a phony kidnapping to throw me off the track or…or annoy the hell out of me?"

"Annoy?" Tucci echoed, smirking. "If I was engaged and my fiancé did that he would be facing my wrath, not annoyance."

Glancing briefly in Tucci's direction, Cuddy then returned her attention to Nehrgard. "Would you be able to tell by their financial transactions?"

"We would be able to see where they had been frequenting and the amount spent there by debit payment, ATM withdrawals and credit charges. Any unusual activity could indicate whether or not that was the case." The detective leveled his gaze on her. "Dr. Cuddy, do you think that's a possibility?"

Cuddy wished she could unequivocally assure him that she didn't, but she couldn't. "I really don't think so. My sister saw it happen and she has no reason to lie about that. I was just curious more than anything else."

He nodded, appearing to be satisfied with that answer. "We did find something interesting that may be related to your suspicion, Doctor. That's why I find it interesting that you asked. The day before the wedding, there was a credit card charge on Dr. Wilson's platinum Visa account made to Hertz car rentals in Trenton. When contacted the rental company informed us that a male matching Dr. Wilson's description rented a dark mahogany metallic 2011 Mazda 6 GS I4 for a week. It was dropped off at his residence the morning of the wedding."

Cuddy shook her head slowly. "Are you sure it was Wilson?"

Detective Tucci answered, "Quite. Also, his registered vehicle was found in the hotel parking lot, presumably there since the wedding. It's been impounded by the department. Did he mention anything to you about having difficulty with his own car?"

"No," Cuddy answered, stunned. "What else did you find out?"

"Dr. Wilson's bank records show that he withdrew five grand from his savings account the same day he rented the car. Since then there have been no withdrawals, debit transactions or credit card purchases with the exception of one credit card charge at a toll booth east of Atlanta, Georgia this afternoon. Either someone else is using his credit and debit card or Dr. Wilson, and presumably Dr. House, have been-which would be an interesting feat for two men who had been kidnapped, at least one of whom was too injured to speak to you on the phone. A check of both doctors' cell phone records showed no activity after the time of their alleged kidnapping."

"Well, that would mean that they aren't the ones who called me, doesn't it?" Cuddy asked hopefully, although that hope was diminishing by the second and being replaced by feelings of betrayal and hurt. "Someone with the same general description as Dr. Wilson could have rented that car using a stolen card, couldn't they?"

"Dr. Wilson didn't report his credit cards or debit card stolen to his bank, credit companies or the police," Tucci informed her. "Of course, it is possible he didn't get a chance to before he disappeared."" She picked up a leather attaché case that had been resting on the floor next to her and opened it, pulling out a letter-sized manila file folder and handing it to Cuddy. The dean looked at the two detectives questioningly before opening it.

"Right on top is a copy of the rental agreement signed with the rental car agency," Tucci explained. "If you look at the signature line at the bottom of the second page you'll see that it has been signed by a James E. Wilson. Under the rental agreement is a copy of the doctor's signature card at his bank."

Cuddy compared the two signatures although she hadn't really needed to; she read and approved enough department reports from him to recognize his signature from memory. Her heart sank into her stomach. She couldn't believe it; she had been had. Her soon-to-be former Chief of Oncology and long-time friend had deceived and betrayed her. She had several questions that she wanted answered: Was House in on the plan or had Wilson actually kidnapped him? Why was it done? How deeply were her sister and brother-in-law involved in the scam? Finally, where were Wilson and House now?

Cuddy's breath had caught when the detective had mentioned Atlanta. That was one city she had determined never to return to…but the riddle, and the location…everything was starting to fall into place but there was no single connecting element yet.

…_The place where he finds truth is found…_ echoed in her head. All color left Cuddy's face and she felt faint. Detective Nehrgard had to have noticed because before anything more happened he was on his feet with a steadying hand on her elbow.

"Dr. Cuddy, are you alright?"

She couldn't answer. Her mind was reeling. Nehrgard helped her to sit down in the chair he'd just vacated. Tucci had immediately gone to find some water.

Someone somehow had tipped either House or Wilson off about Roger and… Cuddy couldn't bring herself to think of Roger's daughter's name; except, the truth was she wasn't Roger's child at all. And she lived in Atlanta with her 'aunt.'

"Roberta," Cuddy half-murmured, half-growled, her fear, anxiety, and hurt being overwhelmed quickly by anger. She hated that bitch and if anyone was responsible for telling Wilson or House about…the past…it would be her. But why would she do that after all of these years of remaining silent? Why now?

She did it now because she'd caught wind of the fact that Cuddy was getting married and was fulfilling the vow she'd made to the dean the last time they'd faced off: that she would make certain that Cuddy never had the opportunity to destroy another man like she had Roger again. It was revenge, then.

And if House was in Atlanta, he was probably there to see Roberta and Roberta would be more than thrilled to tell him and Wilson all about Roger and…Jayne.

Tucci returned with the water and handed the glass to Cuddy who accepted it gratefully, gulping it down greedily before speaking again. "Detectives, I think I know what is going on here and where House and Wilson are—and why. I'll explain it all to you in a minute or two but first—first I have to make a call to my loving sister."


	19. Chapter 19

**Title: Held Hostage**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy, random characters from canon and OCs/House/Cuddy established; House/Wilson Pre-slash/slash.

**A/N:** This story runs AU, what I would like to see happen if House and Cuddy should ever plan to get married. I'm sick of Huddy already—it's completely ruined the show—so if you like Huddy, then you'll hate this and you might as well move along to another fic.

Also, I want to give a big thank you to **George Stark II** for being my ever patient beta!

**Genre:** Drama/Romance.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story involves spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season Seven, Ep. Ten.

**Word Count:** ~4700 including introduction.

**Rating: M (NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, violence, drug and alcohol use, and explicit sexuality.

**Held Hostage**

**Chapter Nineteen**

House looked at the clock on the night stand: 1:14 a.m. He and Wilson had gone to bed around ten-thirty and both had fallen asleep quickly enough but just before midnight House's leg had begun to cramp and woke him rudely with the associated pain. At that time he'd found that neither one of them had moved much in their sleep. Wilson was still wrapped in his arms only now his head rested heavily on House's chest and one of his legs was draped over the older man's good leg. He snored lightly and despite the pain House just lay there for several minutes, immensely enjoying the way it felt to be cuddled up with his best friend this way. It felt completely natural, like they had slept this way together for the entire length of their friendship. If not for the pain, House would have been quite aroused as well and the sensation of Wilson's body pressed up to his and warming him made him feel secure.

When he couldn't tolerate the pain anymore House slowly and gently began the process of disentangling himself from the other man, trying his best not to wake him. He was just about free when the oncologist moaned and then slowly opened his eyes. He looked blurrily at House with sexy brown irises looking black in the barely there lighting of the bedroom.

"Mmph-huh? House? Are you ok?" Wilson rolled onto his back, freeing House, who then moved to sit on the edge of the bed facing away from him. The diagnostician was rubbing vigorously at his damaged thigh.

"I'm fine. Go back to sleep."

Wilson sat up, watching the bleary image of House's shadow in the dark. He rolled toward the bedside table and turned on the small lamp. Then he crawled out of bed and went to the en suite bathroom. A few moments later he returned with House's ibuprofen and a glass of cool water. Waiting until House took them and emptied the glass Wilson then returned them to the bathroom. When he returned he knelt on the floor in front of his best friend, facing him.

"Gee, Wilson, thanks but tonight I've got a leg cramp. Can I have a raincheck?" House asked him, smirking briefly before another cramp seized the ruined muscle tissue and damaged nerves. He grimaced but refused to cry out although he came close to it. Goddamned fucking leg!

"How bad?" Wilson asked, feeling somewhat stupid for having done so—obviously it was bad—but House understood what he meant.

"A strong eight," was the answer growled through gritted teeth. Beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead and upper lip, and drops of it rolled down his back. This was the worst it had been in months.

Wilson gently pushed House's hands away. "Here, let me try," he said as he watched House for a sign of assent. It came in the form of a single, almost imperceptible nod of his head. Wilson began to massage the gnarled skin and tissue. He could feel the muscles cramping ruthlessly beneath his hands; he strongly kneaded at the knots that had formed. He wasn't gentle but that was fine as far as House was concerned; when the cramping and pain got this bad a good, hard massage was exactly what the doctor ordered. House had his eyes closed, a stray tear sliding out of the corner of his eye and rolling over his cheekbone and cheek. He really wasn't crying, but the pain was so intense that it was causing his eyes to tear up.

The oncologist worked tirelessly on the knots until they began to give way under the force of his hands. As the cramping began to stop, so did the pain. House placed a hand on Wilson's shoulder as a signal for him to stop as well as a gesture of thanks.

"You know," House said, his breathing beginning to even out again, "now that the leg is better and since you're already down there…" He wagged his eyebrows.

"You should only be so lucky," Wilson told him with a weak glare, rising to his feet. "Should I run you a hot bath?"

House shook his head, his eyes drooping. Leg cramps and the pain that went with them were exhausting and all he wanted was to go back to sleep. He lay back down, pulled the blankets up and then patted the space next to him as a silent command for Wilson to join him.

Wilson hesitated. "House, maybe I should go back to my own room…"

Frowning, the older man asked. "Why? What's wrong?"

A blush appeared on Wilson's cheeks. "I really enjoyed laying with you but—"

"But what?"

With a sigh Wilson sat on the edge of the bed. "I enjoy it too much," he answered, avoiding House's gaze.

"Oh." House stared up at the ceiling and both of them were silent for a moment. "If it's any consolation, I think I'm too tired to enjoy it that much tonight. Earlier, before the cramping, however, I was ready and able to enjoy it immensely, but now I just really want to get some sleep. So you're safe from molestation for tonight."

A devious smile appeared and Wilson said, "Oh, I wasn't concerned for my safety."

House grinned. "Well, I give you permission to have your way with me while I'm sleeping so long as you don't wake me up."

A chuckle escaped from the younger man but he sobered quickly. "I'm serious, House. I can't, um, well, relax…when I'm that close to you. It wouldn't be right with Cuddy waiting back in Princeton."

Cuddy…House had mixed emotions when he thought of her now. Her efforts to become pregnant because she'd felt it was time for her to become a mother. That's what she'd told him, all the while keeping from him the fact that she already had been a mother—of his child, no less—and had purposely misled him. All the angst that surrounded her attempts to get pregnant and then to adopt when the fertility treatments had failed to work, their kiss in the foyer of her home when Joy had been taken from her…He'd pitied her, hadn't told her that was why he'd been there in the first place. Now they were engaged and she still hadn't told him the truth about Roger and the way she'd tricked him into believing House's daughter was his and the fact that she'd signed away Jayne like she was a puppy being given up to a humane society instead of her daughter; their daughter. It irked him that she had put him through the wringer for lying to her about a test result so he could save his patient's life but she had been lying to him for years about the existence of his daughter.

Well, House was pretty certain he didn't want to be with Cuddy now knowing what he knew. Especially when he knew that the the thperson he loved ten times more than he ever had her had confessed that he loved and wanted House too. He could tolerate a great deal, but blatant hypocrisy he couldn't.

"When I return to Princeton—" House began but he was interrupted when there came a rapid knocking at the door.

"Dr. Wilson, Dr. House," Porter said through the door. While he still sounded in control there was an edge of urgency to his voice that immediately told House that something was wrong. Wilson went to the door and unlocked it, then opened it. Porter entered the room without permission. Now House knew there was something wrong.

"What's got your panties in a bunch, Porter?" House demanded, now fully awake. He ignored the glare Wilson threw him for what he'd just said.

"Gentlemen, I will explain everything shortly but you must dress and pack quickly. Ms. Chalmers received a call from the Atlanta Police. They suspect that the two of you are here and that you, Dr. Wilson, kidnapped Dr. House, are holding him against his will, making interstate threatening phone calls to Princeton; they believe that Dr. House has been badly injured by you and is unable to seek out help. A warrant has been issued for your arrest."

Wilson closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again they appeared panicked along with the rest of him. Somehow Wilson's plan had been exposed and twisted out of recognition; somehow the authorities had managed to track them all the way to Atlanta.

"He didn't kidnap me," House said quickly. "I'm here of my own free will and as you can see I'm fine." He didn't mention that it hadn't started out that way but things had changed considerably since then.

"I haven't made any phone calls to Princeton since we left there a couple of days ago," Wilson added, his hand at the back of his neck rubbing away furiously. He looked completely dumbfounded.

"Regardless, gentlemen, the police are on their way," the butler told them insistently, "so they should arrive here in approximately ten minutes. Ms. Chalmers has made a way for you two to escape before they reach here but you must get moving now!"

House rose from the bed as quickly as he could and grabbed his cane. He slowly put some weight on his right leg and then winced. He could do it. He'd cope.

"So we tell them the truth when they arrive," House said, shrugging.

"No," Wilson said. "If they are going to charge me with making threatening phone calls over state lines that alone makes this a federal offense. They don't need the kidnapping charge to arrest me and hold me for arraignment. Shit, how did they find out? Lucinda said she and Ralph would run interference and warn me if things became complicated." Wilson set quickly to work finding clothes for House to throw on while Porter began to pack up for him.

"Lucinda, as in Cuddy's sister, Lucinda? She is in on this with you?" House asked incredulously as he began to throw on the clothing Wilson was handing him.

"Yes," Wilson said shortly, "I'll explain it all in the car. I need time to prove that I'm not the one who made those calls. House, you haven't done anything wrong. You can stay if you want, but I can't. I've got to get dressed." The oncologist raced from House's room to his own across the corridor.

"I've got this," House told Porter who was just closing up House's suitcase. "Go help Wilson."

House was confused and he had a lot of questions but he also knew that there was no way Wilson had made any phone calls back to Princeton. They'd been in each other's company almost constantly since they'd left. It was theoretically possible but so highly unlikely that it wasn't even worth calculating the odds. He wasn't going to stay and leave his best friend to face this all by himself; he was going with him.

They met in the corridor two minutes later. Porter told them to follow him. He led them to the elevator he had mentioned to House the day before and all three of them climbed into it with the luggage. Yesterday House hadn't known about Jayne and her mild disability; now it made sense that there would be an easier way for her to move about the mansion. She walked quite well but he i magined that she would find the stairs more of a challenge.

On the main floor Porter led them to the back of the house and out a rear entrance. Sitting waiting for them just outside the door was a silver Jaguar XK convertible with the top up. House whistled softly and the corners of his mouth turned upward as his eyes ran along the lines of the car.

"Where's the rental?" Wilson asked Porter, confused.

"Ms. Chalmers wants you to use this car," was the reply and the butler opened the trunk and began to stow away their luggage. "Her friend on the police force advised her that they were able to track you down using your rental agreement and credit card charges. She will hide the rental and is giving you this one for your 'getaway.'"

"Have to say I've never had a loaner like this beauty before," House commented, giving Wilson a grin. "I'm driving."

"With your bad leg? I don't think so."

"It's better now," House insisted, snagging the keys from Porter before Wilson could and limping around to the driver's side. "Besides, I'm a better driver."

"No," Wilson replied drolly, "you're a faster driver. There's a difference."

"Not when you're running from the law," House retorted, placing his cane in the small space behind his seat before getting in behind the wheel. He sunk into the soft leather seat and looked at the dashboard with all of its pretty buttons and lights. Someday he had to get himself one of these.

Wilson didn't argue with him there, he also climbed into the Jag on the passenger side. Porter came around to House's window which he lowered.

"There is a service road that runs parallel to the rear of the manor," he told House carefully. "At the end of this driveway turn left. It's a dirt road that leads off the property. Follow it for approximately a quarter mile. You'll find an improved road. You'll come to a gate. There will be a post with a buzzer. Press it and someone will open the gate. Drive about fifty yards and turn left onto the service road. You're on your own from there. Good luck, Gentlemen."

"Why do I feel like I'm in a bad spy flick?" House asked before raising the window again and starting the car; it purred like a kitten. He smiled gleefully at Wilson. The oncologist rolled his eyes and turned to look out the front windshield but House saw the hint of a smile on his face. House stared at him fondly for a moment longer then put the car in gear and they drove away.

Ordinarily Porter would have been the one to answer the door when the chime rang but he had to wait in the massive kitchen for the buzzer to sound to unlock and open the gate for the doctors. Roberta Chalmers answered it herself, still dressed having not gone to bed yet. At the door were two detectives and behind them she could see at least four squad cars with their lights flashing and a small crowd of police officers circling the house. She sighed silently, hoping that James and Gregory were already well on their way by now.

"Yes, may I help you?" Roberta said with a thin smile.

"Are you Roberta Chalmers?" one of the two male detectives asked her.

"Yes, I am. What seems to be the problem?"

The same detective answered. "I'm Detective Darcy and this is Detective Richardson. We have reason to believe that a fugitive with another man, allegedly his hostage, is staying in this residence."

"That's ridiculous!" Roberta answered, laughing a little. "There are no people staying here other than my niece, myself, and a small staff of four."

Darcy held up the warrants for her to look at along with their identification and badges. "Ma'am, we have a search warrant for your premises including your property and the structures on it. We also have an arrest warrant for Dr. James Wilson. We have reason to believe that he was here at your residence, probably accompanied by another man, Dr. Gregory House."

Roberta narrowed her eyes at him but knew she had no choice but to allow them in. "Very well, but I assure you that I've told you the truth. There are no people by that name in my home."

She backed away from the door to allow the detectives along with eight uniformed cops to enter the foyer. Richardson gave instructions to the officers and in pairs they split up to search the manor.

"May I ask what this Dr. Wilson and his companion are accused of doing?"

"First degree kidnapping across state lines and interstate phone calls of a threatening nature," Darcy told her. "Earlier this evening the latest of a series of threatening calls from the kidnapper—"

"Alleged kidnapper," she spoke up, the lawyer in her kicking in.

"Yes," Darcy agreed grudgingly, "alleged kidnapper was made to the fiancée of Dr. House, whom the suspect is believed to have drugged and kidnapped from his wedding. This call was traced to this residence."

"You must be mistaken." Roberta began to say but when the detective told her about the call trace and that she didn't have to worry because it was Wilson who was going to be facing charges the woman sighed. "Dr. Wilson didn't know anything about it. I made the calls. A friend of mine helped me fake voices using digital sound morphing technology. I wanted to make an enemy hurt as much as she had hurt my family."

The detective sighed, shaking his head. "And the location of Dr. Wilson and Dr. House?"

"They left after dinner. They're heading home," she answered calmly, staring him in the eyes. "May I call my lawyer and have her meet me at the police station before you take me in?"

They drove with the headlights off following the route Porter had told them by the light of the moon. House was behind the wheel, unable to repress a smile. He knew that Wilson and he were possibly in a shitload of trouble from the police and definitely from Cuddy, but he hadn't had this much fun in a long time. Sneaking around in the middle of the night with Wilson to get away from the cops was a hell of a lot more exciting than business dinners and fundraisers at Cuddy's side. Especially when the message to him beforehand was to keep his mouth shut and 'try not to embarrass me tonight!' He knew it also had to do with the fact that he was with Wilson, the one he'd always loved more than he ever possibly could have anyone else, including Cuddy.

He glanced over at Wilson and noticed that the oncologist was watching him with a thoughtful, amused expression.

"What?" House demanded, feeling a little uncomfortable under such intense scrutiny.

"You're having a good time, aren't you?" Wilson asked him quietly.

The diagnostician smiled genuinely, "And you aren't?"

"The possibility of being arrested is putting a damper on my mood," Wilson admitted.

House rolled his eyes. Wilson was ever the worrywart. The man had to learn to relax and quit living his life in the worst possible future and to live in the present instead. It was a wonder that Wilson didn't have an ulcer from all his worrying; of course, he supposedly had gastritis which House would insist upon confirming with an upper GI endoscopy as soon as they returned home.

"You're not going to be arrested," House assured him confidently. "As for the kidnapping charge I'll vouch for the fact that I'm with you willingly."

"Could be Stockholm Syndrome," Wilson debated, smirking. "Or torture."

"Well, there is the cock-zapper in my suitcase," House acknowledged.

"You still have it? I thought for sure you'd have dumped it already."

Grinning at his best friend wolfishly House replied, "Not a chance. With a few adjustments that baby will make an awesome S and M toy. We'll patent it and make millions! Of course, we'll have to test it, both of us taking a turn, to make certain that the final product is up to standard." He wagged his eyebrows, causing Wilson to laugh and blush at the same time.

"As for the phone calls," House continued, "you didn't make them, right?"

"Right."

"So they have to be able to prove you made them and since you didn't, they won't be able to."

"I have two words for you," Wilson told him, frowning. "Wrongful conviction."

"So we'll call the Innocence Project," House responded, rolling his eyes. "Quit worrying. You're only going to aggravate your gastritis."

"Too late," Wilson told him. "God, it hurts."

They reached the gate Porter had told them about. House lowered the window and reached with a long arm and pressed the buzzer button. A few seconds later the gate clanged and slowly opened to allow them passage.

They continued through the gate and toward the service road. Once there both men literally sighed in relief. That was short lived when House looked into his rearview mirror and saw a car turn onto the service road and follow them keeping a constant distance behind them. Wilson noticed House's frequent glances at the mirror.

"What's wrong? Is there somebody following us?"

Instead of assuring him that there was nothing to worry about House answered with practiced calm, "Possibly. It could also be a resident of the area using the service road and nothing to worry about."

They drove a short while longer until they reached an end of the service road. It emptied onto a residential street that was unfamiliar to the driver.

"Which direction?"

"Hell if I know," Wilson told him tensely. "Turn left. Whatever. Just get us out of here."

House turned right, watching behind the car in search of the car that had been following them. They reached an intersection with a larger traffic artery and had to stop for a red light. Wilson was busy firing up the GPS system in the dashboard. In the rearview mirror the car that had been behind them turned onto the street and began to gain on them. In the light of the streetlights House recognized the vehicle.

"Shit," House muttered, his eyes scanning all routes of escape. "It's a cop. Wilson, which direction?"

"I've just about got it, hold on," was the answer he got. The cop was less than two blocks away from them and closing.

"Can't hold on," House insisted, his voice taut. "I need it now!"

"G-got it," Wilson told him, nodding. "Turn right here. Turn right and then your next left; that takes us to the Interstate westbound."

House was in the wrong lane. The light turned green and he hit the accelerator and swerved into the turning lane cutting off another car, and turned right, then wove through traffic expertly and turned left at the next set of lights. At first he was certain that they were going to lose the police but when he saw the cop car about a block back House cursed softly. It could be coincidence; the cop car was simply heading in the same direction and wasn't after them at all. Or it was waiting until they had cleared traffic to begin a pursuit.

"Is it still behind us?" Wilson asked after a few moments. He checked out the side mirror and then turned in his seat, trying to see behind himself. He turned a bit too much and he grimaced, turning white.

House looked sideways at his best friend and frowned. "Just sit still!" House snapped at him. "I can't drive and help you medically at the same time. Yes, the cop is still back there, but he's made no move to catch up to us for a while now and his lights aren't flashing; so-far, so-good. So, we're heading west. Are you finally going to tell me where we're going?"

"Get us out of Atlanta without being chased or arrested and I'll give you a clue," Wilson answered, smiling in spite of his obvious apprehension.

House smirked.

Traffic wasn't heavy—it was the middle of the night after all—but it was steady. As they neared the turn-off the cars between the Jaguar and the patrol car turned off or changed lanes leaving nothing between them. The cops were slowly gaining on them once more. House said nothing to Wilson, not wanting to alert him that the situation was getting dicey again.

House turned off onto the exit leading to the Interstate onramp. The patrol car stayed on his tail. Shit! Play it cool, just play it cool, he thought. Don't act suspicious. Relax.

They turned onto the onramp and picked up speed in preparation to merge into the interstate traffic. So did the cop. House merged the Jaguar onto the highway, nestling it nicely between two semis before changing lanes to an emptier one in case he had to speed up suddenly.

"We're still being followed," Wilson stated, not asked. He swallowed audibly, glancing toward House as if seeking reassurance. House sighed silently; the oncologist could be quite the girl sometimes. He didn't do well under circumstances like this.

Opening his mouth to speak House paused when he saw the cop changed lanes to end up right behind them again. House set his jaw. It didn't look good.

When the cop's lights began to flash and his siren sounded, it looked much worse.

"Oh god," Wilson moaned, unable to miss the red and blue flashes lighting up the interior of the car. "House, pull over onto the shoulder. I don't want to get you into trouble with the police. I'm the one who drugged and abducted you; it's time for me to face the music. Pull over."

House shook his head. "Bullshit. I'm here now because I want to be; there's no cock-zapper or knock-out drug keeping me here. I'm not going to hand you over to the cops for a bogus kidnapping charge." He hit the gas pedal and increased his spread slightly.

"House, you don't want to try to outrun the cops and start a high-speed chase!" Wilson protested.

"Who says?" House asked. "Could be fun!"

The patrol car was quickly closing the distance between them. House quickly changed to the lane to the right of them to avoid back-ending a slow moving minivan and slowed right down.

"Just pull over!" Wilson insisted just as the patrol car passed the Jaguar and pulled up nearly on the bumper of the minivan. The minivan then headed for the shoulder with the cop on its ass end.

House sighed in relief. His little test had turned out the way he'd hoped. The cop hadn't been pursuing them. He'd noticed that as the patrol car seemed to be following the Jaguar, the minivan had consistently been in front of them from the moment they had turned off of the service road onto the residential street. It hadn't occurred to House that the cop might actually have been following the minivan until they had followed the minivan onto the onramp.

"That was…too…too much," Wilson said, shaking his head and slumping in his seat.

Looking sideways, House noticed the way Wilson was holding his upper abdomen, trembling and looking terribly pale. "Hey, you okay?"

Wilson looked at him with an odd look on his face.

"What?" House demanded.

"Nothing," the oncologist answered, shaking his head. "I'm just trying to adjust to you asking me how I'm doing and appearing to be genuinely concerned. Don't get me wrong—it's good. I'm just not used to it coming from you. You never used to check on me like this. What's changed?"

House shrugged, waiting a moment or two to answer. "I don't have to pretend that I don't love you anymore."


	20. Chapter 20

**Title: ****Held Hostage**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy, random characters from canon and OCs/House/Cuddy established; House/Wilson Pre-slash/slash.

**A/N:** This story runs AU, what I would like to see happen if House and Cuddy should ever plan to get married. I'm sick of Huddy already—it's completely ruined the show—so if you like Huddy, then you'll hate this and you might as well move along to another fic.

Also, I want to give a big thank you to **George Stark II** for being my ever patient beta!

**Genre:** Drama/Romance.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story involves spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season Seven, Ep. Ten.

**Word Count:** ~5300

**Rating: M (NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, violence, drug and alcohol use, and explicit sexuality.

**Held Hostage**

Chapter Twenty

House relinquished the wheel just outside Auburn, Alabama because his leg had had all it could take and was beginning to cramp up again. Wilson had managed a short nap before he took over driving. House sat in the passenger seat massaging his ruined thigh and appeared to be deep in thought. Wilson never knew whether to be curious or frightened of what went through the genius's mind. It was capable of incredible insight; Wilson was certain that House had forgotten more than Wilson had ever learned in his entire life. Yet somehow he continued to keep the diagnostician's interest.

"I smell sawdust," Wilson said softly, amusement tugging at his lips; he kept his eyes on the road, sneaking glances at the other man from time to time.

"Then stop thinking," was House's instant riposte.

"How's the leg?" the oncologist asked next, concerned that they were facing another cramp attack.

"It's being a bitch—which is nothing new. I'll be fine. How's your gut?"

"Reminding me that I'm out of Maalox," Wilson replied. "I'll live."

House nodded in acknowledgement and stared out his side window for a while in silence. Wilson knew that there was more bothering him than his leg. When Wilson had first heard Roberta's story he'd been deeply disturbed by it, angry that one person could cause so much pain for vain ambition. Perhaps it was even more so because that person was someone he considered a friend, someone he thought he'd known but obviously hadn't. In his case, the situation didn't actually involve or influence him in any personal way. However, for House it did. He not only learned that his one night stand with Cuddy resulted in a daughter that he never had a chance to get to know but also that his fiancée was not the woman she'd led him to believe she was. If Wilson were in his place he'd be wondering just what else Cuddy was hiding from him and be be questioning her integrity. To 'err is human,' but how can you forgive the person who wronged you if they've never repented of what they've done? Sure, House never called her back after that night, but if he had told Wilson the truth, he'd never promised to. House had never claimed that he'd wanted more out of what had happened than a night of sex (even if he had should the situation have been different). He didn't lie to her or keep a secret like a child from her for decades.

Of course, Wilson had no idea what it must have been like to be a young woman with lofty dreams finding herself pregnant with the child of a man she didn't know whether she would ever see again. He wasn't all that surprised that Cuddy hadn't aborted the fetus; thinking about it, he couldn't blame her for wanting to give up Jayne for adoption and it was probably the best thing she could have done for the young woman. However, he couldn't understand the lies no matter how hard he tried to find a justification for them. Roger Chalmers had deserved the truth, as had House years later when he became a nearly daily part of Cuddy's life again.

Wilson didn't like the fact that House and Cuddy shared a child in common. It was a tie that would forever connect their lives together. He didn't want continued competition for House's heart. Sure, House didn't intend on ever telling Jayne that he was her father or pursuing a familial relationship with her but nonetheless it was something that he and Cuddy would always share.

Did House still love Cuddy enough to marry her? Would this new knowledge strengthen their love or destroy it? Wilson needed to know whether he should hold onto hope or lose it altogether.

He thought about what it felt like to sleep in House's arms after twenty years of next to no physical contact with him at all. It felt so natural, so right, like the world made sense again and everything in those moments was perfect. He'd slept like a baby for those few hours before being rudely awakened by Porter. Wilson never wanted to sleep apart from House again, but knew that he might have no other choice.

House dozed off, which was just as well. There was no reason why both of them had to be awake all night. Wilson considered pulling off the interstate and looking for some motel to crash at but decided against it. Though tired he didn't feel the least bit sleepy. So he continued driving until morning, stopping once for gasoline. As the sun rose and illuminated the earth House began to stir in his seat and then wake up. He blinked and rubbed his eyes just as they passed a road sign that said New Orleans: 10 miles.

"You're taking me to New Orleans?" House asked him even though he appeared to be certain that he was correct. "Why?"

Wilson shrugged and then yawned. He was finally getting sleepy. "I wanted to remind you that you had a life before you came to work for Cuddy. Call me nostalgic, but I figured bringing you back here might remind you of our first encounter and somehow help me convince you not to marry Cuddy."

House pondered that awhile, then, "You were hoping that bringing me here might make me fall in love with you."

"I didn't really think in those specific terms," the younger man admitted, "but yeah, I guess I must have been. I booked a room for us in the same hotel the conference was held in but that was for tonight, not this morning. I'll have to see if we can take possession of the room early."

Wilson called ahead to the hotel and inquired about getting their room early. Fortunately it was currently unoccupied so it was available for them when he and House arrived.

The drive to the hotel was filled with philosophical chatter from House in an obvious attempt to keep Wilson awake. He tried to follow along with the conversation but was definitely having difficulty doing so. He was incredibly relieved when they arrived and a bellhop grabbed their luggage out of the trunk while a valet took Wilson's keys to park the car for him. He was literally dragging himself to the front desk to check in and then to the elevator to follow their luggage to their room.

At the door to their room, House smirked, pleased, looking from the room number to Wilson.

"This was the room I occupied twenty years ago. Wilson, you're such a girl."

Smiling slightly, Wilson shrugged and followed the bellhop into the room, made up with two queen-sized beds and a sitting area with a sofa, armchair and large-screen plasma TV. House followed closely behind him—really closely. He could feel the warmth of House's breath on the back of his neck. It felt good but the oncologist was simply too tired to fully appreciate it. After setting the suitcases on their folding stands, the bellhop made to leave. Wilson handed him a generous tip. Once he and House were alone Wilson unpacked a few things including his toiletry bag and pajama bottoms.

"I'm going to take a shower then sleep for a few hours," he informed the diagnostician as he headed for the bathroom.

"I'm hungry," House replied, opening drawers until he found the room service menu. "Pancakes, eggs, and bacon sound good right about now."

"Uh-huh," Wilson said, not really paying attention. He was just too tired to care. He shut the bathroom door, stripped down, grabbed his own shampoo and body wash and then started the shower. He was quick about it, the bed in the other room calling to him like Circe from her island of swine. After shampooing, soaping himself down, and rinsing off he stepped out of the shower and turned off the water. He quickly toweled off, including his hair, put on his pajama bottoms with nothing else and then neatly folded his clothes before leaving the bathroom.

House was stretched out on the closer of the two beds reading the room service menu. Wilson set his clothes on top of his suitcase and then crawled into the unclaimed bed, pulling the blankets up around his ears. He was practically asleep when his head hit the pillow.

House pretended to read as Wilson climbed into the other bed, turned his back to him, and went to sleep. It took less than two minutes for Wilson to begin snoring softly. Quietly rising from where he was, House moved over to his suitcase, pulled out his pajama bottoms and toiletry bag, and went to the bathroom to have a shower of his own. When he was done he emerged from the bathroom with his pajama pants on and no shirt. House called the front desk for a wake-up call and then room service to arrange for food to be delivered shortly after they woke up.

Looking through Wilson's things quietly, House located his cell phone and took it with him into the bathroom. There were three bars out of six on the signal meter; he dialed the number and waited. The connection was crackly but the call went through. It rang twice before being picked up.

"Wilson?" Lisa Cuddy's voice came over the connection. "Is that you? If it is then I demand to know what the hell is going on! I know that you weren't kidnapped—!"

Oh yeah, House thought, call display. "It's not Wilson. It's me," he said, cutting her off. "Get the police off our tail, Cuddy."

"Are you alright?" she demanded and he could hear both anger and concern in her voice.

"I'm fine. Wilson's fine," House assured her. "Look, it's a long story."

"Not so long, I think," Cuddy responded, her voice suddenly changing in tone to sour. "You got cold feet and instead of being honest with me you decided to leave me on our wedding day with a room full of guests and no groom. You made up this ridiculous story about being kidnapped and somehow convinced my sister to help you. End of story—see, that wasn't so long!"

"And completely wrong," he told her. "Wilson had concerns about you and me getting married, as did Lucinda. They agreed that he should take me on a road trip to talk things through with me to prevent me from potentially making a mistake. Wilson and I were in the washroom preparing for the ceremony. I was nervous, Wilson handed me a flask and after I drank a couple of swallows I realized too late that there was a knockout drug in the booze. I woke up in a car with Wilson on the interstate. He cuffed me, even gagged me at one point and used a torture device to keep me compliant."

"Oh my god! Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm positive," House told her. "That was just at first. After he explained what was going on I continued on the trip voluntarily. I know about the phone calls you received but I can tell you that it wasn't Wilson making them."

"House, I heard his voice," Cuddy objected and he could picture her shaking her head in disbelief.

"Regardless, it wasn't him. I've been with him almost constantly since we left Princeton. It wasn't him. This wasn't done to humiliate you. This was done because Wilson felt I should know a few things that he'd found out before marrying you."

There was a pause the length of a heartbeat before Cuddy replied to that. "And what did he tell you?"

House sighed. "You want me to tell you with the cops listening in and tracing my call?" When she didn't respond he mentally shrugged and continued. "He didn't tell me anything. He allowed Roberta Chalmers to do the honors. You remember Roberta, don't you? She certainly remembers you. Wilson and I had dinner last night with her and her niece, Jayne."

He heard a sigh come from Cuddy's end. "I'm sure she told you a pack of lies about me," the dean told him bitterly. "She disapproved of me dating her brother back in college and has held a grudge against me for ending my relationship with him and…and hurting him."

"I would be pissed off, not hurt, if you dumped me and then came back a few months later with a baby that couldn't possibly have been mine, told me that the baby was my child and that if I wanted her I could have her otherwise she would be dropped off at CPS to be adopted out to strangers." House's voice was sharp, cold. "Perhaps as pissed off as I am right now that you never told me that Jayne even existed, much less that she was mine."

"I couldn't tell you that I was pregnant," Cuddy told him quietly. "You never contacted me again after that night, remember? I had no idea where you had gone or if I would ever see you again. I was so young and I had my career all planned out and all I could think about was that my dreams were over because I was pregnant. I was dating Roger at the time and I didn't want him to know about our one night stand. In order to do that I had to let him think that the baby was his."

"So you lied to him and he was gullible enough to believe you," House pointed out. "Why did you go to the bother of marrying him and then getting it annulled a week later when you could have had the pregnancy terminated and no one would have had to have been the wiser? Was it because you thought it would be nice to become Mrs. Roger Chalmers and have his baby and his money and his social position?"

"No!" Cuddy nearly yelled. "Of course not! That's what Roberta claims but it's not true. I…I chose not to abort for personal reasons, but I also knew that I wasn't ready to be a mother and that Jayne would be better off with Roger and his family than with me at that point. It wasn't easy, House, to give her up. No matter what Roberta may have told you, I did love Jayne. It broke my heart having to give her up. I did what I had to do and if I could do it all over again I would do the same thing. I tried to forget about her and Roger and you so I could live with myself and pursue becoming a doctor. Jayne had health issues when she was born that I couldn't afford to take care of and I knew Roger could. So go ahead and condemn me but you have no idea what it was like for me."

House knew that was true. He had no idea and so couldn't stand in judgment of her no matter how angry he was at her. There was still something else, though.

"I know you did what you had to for both Jayne and you. I don't condemn you for that," House told her, his voice moderating in volume and tone. "What I don't get is why you didn't tell me after I started working at Princeton-Plainsboro. You had plenty of opportunities over the years."

"I don't know," she admitted with a sigh. "I guess it was something I didn't want to dredge up after so many years and end up hurting again…and I had no idea how you would react to knowing. It was in the past, I knew that you weren't interested in being a father…does it really matter at this point?"

Considering that for a moment, House had to concede that it really didn't.

"Cuddy, there's something more I have to tell you," the diagnostician informed her grimly. "I can't marry you."

"What—because of Jayne?" she said in reaction, her voice sounding strange. "House, I just explained to you why—"

"It's not just about that," he told her, dreading what he had to tell her next. "Lisa, I love you…but I've never been in love with you. The fact that you raked me over the coals for lying to you about a blood test that saved a man's life after keeping Jayne a secret from me all these years and lying to another man by telling him that Jayne was his…that only adds to my certainty that we will never work. I wanted to do this in person, but with the police on our tail…well, it's over."

Cuddy was silent, likely composing herself before she spoke. She was a strong woman not given to grandiose displays of emotion—an aspect about her that House found appealing. He waited for her to be the next one to say anything.

"Is there someone else?" she asked, her voice well-modulated and controlled.

House sighed silently. "Yes…but I haven't been seeing this person behind your back. I haven't cheated."

She cleared her throat. "Would the person you're in love with currently be traveling with you?"

House was amazed. She was one intelligent woman. He didn't think he'd been obvious about his feelings for Wilson around her; House was excellent at hiding his true emotions from others, but perhaps not excellent enough to fool her. It didn't really matter. She knew and that spared him the pain of having to tell her later.

"Yes," he answered simply. He expected her to be either mocking and angry or shocked and skeptical about learning that her ex-lover was in love with his male best friend. He was surprised when she didn't seem to be either.

Another pause, and then, "I'll talk to the police about stopping their hunt," Cuddy told him, now unable to hide the hurt she was feeling, although still remaining rational. "The three of us will settle this when you get home."

He heard the click of her hanging up on him. House pressed 'End' on Wilson's phone. Sighing again, feeling badly about hurting her, House returned the phone to where he'd found it. It would be unpleasant for awhile at work for Cuddy, Wilson, and him; she likely would have a great deal of difficulty forgiving them, but he hoped that someday they could find the ability to be friends again. Only time would tell. What mattered most to House, however, was the fact that Wilson was in love with him and now House was free to be with him at long last.

With that done he climbed into the bed with Wilson, spooned up close behind the younger man, wrapped an arm around Wilson's waist and buried his nose in Wilson's fruit-scented hair. The feel of the younger man's warm, surprisingly soft skin of his back, pressed against House's chest, was incredible and he had to suppress a moan that wanted to escape him. Enjoying the feelings of intimacy and comfort that being near Wilson gave him, House drifted off to sleep.

When the wake-up call came, House slept through the first couple of rings but managed to wake up enough to answer on the third by feel, not wanting to open his eyes. He groaned at the rude awakening and was tempted to go right back to sleep when he felt fingers run softly through his hair. It was like a scalp massage. He smiled, and if he'd been a cat he probably would have been purring already. It caused another part of his body to tingle and wake up as well. House thought about shifting his body position to try to hide the fact that he was getting a hard-on and then mentally shrugged that off and remained on his back. Wilson already knew how he felt so there was really no point in being embarrassed by the fact that his body was responding appropriately.

House opened his eyes and smiled at his best friend. "Is this all part of your seduction ritual?"

"I don't know," Wilson answered coyly, shrugging. "Is it working?"

"Can't you tell?"

A grin spread across Wilson's face but that was his only response. He stopped playing in House's thinning hair and regarded the older man pensively for a moment.

"I've made plans for dinner tonight," he told House. "I hope you don't mind. I think you'll like it and if not then next time we can do what you want to do."

House folded his hands behind his head. "And what might these plans be?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Shaking his head, Wilson rolled off the bed and stared down at House. "It's a surprise."

"Another one?" the diagnostician responded a little warily. "This whole trip has been nothing but surprises and not all of them have turned out so well. Just tell me this—do I have to dress up again for dinner?"

"No," Wilson assured him smugly. "Just dress as your normal, sloppy, irascible self."

House smirked at that comment, having a feeling he knew what Wilson had in store for him that evening. With a grunt House got out of bed and hurried to beat Wilson into the bathroom.

Wilson opened the door of the hotel bar and held it for House. The diagnostician walked past him into the place where he had first seen Wilson that fateful night twenty years ago. It looked identical to the way House remembered it, right down to the antique mirror hanging over the bar (well, the frame was antique but the glass had been replaced with a close replica of the mirror; Wilson had broken the mirror when he had thrown his glass into it in a fit of rage and frustration, starting a huge brawl that had wound the young oncologist up in jail, awaiting bond). The old jukebox was there in the corner and House wondered if it still played the same song that had started the problem in the first place.

The thing that was strange was that it was just after happy hour but the establishment was completely empty other than for a bartender drying glasses and ignoring them. The place should have been fairly busy but instead it was dead. One of the tables in the center of the room was set elegantly for two with a low block candle lit and set in the center. Suddenly it occurred to House what was happening and why the bar was empty.

"You rented the bar for the night for just the two of us, didn't you?" House asked his friend, wide-eyed. He could only guess at how much that would have cost Wilson to do.

"Well, how can you have an intimate candlelit dinner for two with a roomful of people all around you?" Wilson responded with eyes that gleamed indulgently at him.

"What if I hadn't come willingly this entire way and didn't want to have a candlelit dinner with you?" House asked him, resisting the urge to smile. "That would have been a lot of money thrown away for nothing."

Wilson shrugged nonchalantly and responded earnestly, "It was worth the risk because you're worth it."

Their eyes met and it caused House's heart to beat fast and hard and his stomach to flutter pleasantly; he couldn't remember the last time somebody had said anything like that to him. In that instant House wanted to grab Wilson's hand and pull him up flush to his body and command his perfect mouth but thought better of it. He was hungry and wanted to eat and if he went ahead and pulled Wilson into a passionate kiss he wouldn't stop until he had dragged Wilson back to their room, stripped him of every thread of clothing and ravished him. Better to eat first, have sex later.

"Well, since we're here we might as well eat," House told him, breaking up the moment of meaningful silence between them. "Where's the grub?" He headed to the table and sat down.

Wilson sat opposite him, a hint of a smile on his lips. House couldn't help but stare at him; he was so incredibly hot with his dark eyes and chestnut hair, and single dimple that was expressed when he smiled. He couldn't believe they were sitting there in the place where it all began on the precipice of a new phase of their relationship and their lives and he wasn't afraid. House was always afraid of change because he always expected that change would come with negative consequences—that was the story of his life. If he and Wilson became lovers as well as best friends and things didn't work out between them, would it be possible to go back to the way things were when they were just friends? He doubted it. They might possibly be able to remain friends but things would never be as good between them again. Ordinarily that knowledge would set him into a panic and he'd end up pushing Wilson away and running away himself.

But this time…this time he wasn't afraid to pursue this. He couldn't explain it—there was no way he could put it into words that would make any sense to anyone but himself. His normally rational, methodical mind couldn't reason it out like it usually did and produce concrete proof to substantiate what he believed but he knew without a doubt that this would work out and that he didn't have to worry about losing Wilson someday.

As soon as they had sat down the bartender had brought over an ice bucket and a bottle of champagne and taken their order from the hotel restaurant menu. House allowed Wilson one glass of the bubbly and he didn't receive an argument. They joked about the combover the bartender sported, made up an outrageous tale of how he was a bartender by day and a mass murderer by night, luring young men into his car, taking them back to his remote cabin deep down the Bayou where he lobotomized them and had sex with them before eating them a la Jeffrey Dahmer and dumping what was inedible into the waters for the alligators to pick clean. They were laughing until they had tears in their eyes and every time the bartender came to their table to deliver the food or bring Wilson a bottle of sparkling water they took one look at him and broke out laughing again. House couldn't believe how natural it felt to be there with Wilson at that moment, like they should have confessed their feelings for each other years ago and bypassed the angst and anger of the past three years altogether.

After dinner and dessert (which House noted his best friend ate very little of) Wilson got up from the table and went over to the jukebox. He slipped a few coins into it and made a selection.

"If that's 'Leave a Tender Moment Alone,'" House said to him with a grin, "just remember that I don't have any money on me to bail you out of jail."

Wilson chuckled as the music began to play. "Not a chance." He gestured to House to come join him.

"Isn't this a little gay?" House asked his best friend, rising to his feet regardless and approaching him. Wilson took House's cane from him and rested it against the bar.

"Uh, yeah, I think it is," Wilson said softly, nodding. "Does that bother you, House? Be honest."

House saw the hint of apprehension in his best friend's eyes and thought about saying yes to see what his reaction would be but then changed his mind. He couldn't do that to him.

"Who leads?" House demanded, smirking.

Wilson was visibly relieved. "We'll flip for it." Wilson pulled a quarter out of his pocket. "Call it." He flicked the coin up into the air, tumbling up before reaching the point where gravity took over and pulled it downward again.

"Heads," House said. The coin landed in the palm of Wilson's hand and before looking at it he slapped it down onto the back of his right hand and exposed it. It was heads. House grinned in satisfaction but it didn't really matter. All they could do was sway to the music anyway with House's leg being the way it was, holding each other close so that their cheeks touched along with the rest of their bodies.

"What did you think/ I would do at this moment/ when you're standing before me/ with tears in your eyes…"

House reveled in the feeling of Wilson's breath on his neck, the smell of him, the warmth of his body pressed against his, the feeling of his arms around him, holding him. It was more intoxicating than champagne could ever be.

"Still okay with this?" Wilson asked him after a few moments, turning his head to look House in the eyes. "Or is it still too gay?"

"Too gay," House answered even as he was pulling Wilson even closer if that was even possible and then pressing his lips gently against the oncologist's. Wilson immediately kissed him back, deepening the kiss with the passion he'd been holding back for a very long time.

"…What do you think/ I would give at this moment/ If you'd stay/ I'd subtract twenty years from my life/ I'd fall down on my knees/ and kiss the ground that you walk on/ If I could just hold you again…"

"I talked to Cuddy, while you were sleeping," House told Wilson softly, leaning his forehead against Wilson's. "It's over. I can't continue a relationship with her when I want to be with you. She took it surprisingly well, but I didn't tell her about…about us. She guessed it. She didn't seem surprised at all. I didn't intend on outing you—"

"I don't care," Wilson murmured. "I used to but…but I don't anymore. I took the traditional road and look where it got me. I love you, House, and I don't care who knows it."

House smiled almost shyly at that, and kissed Wilson again before saying. "Let's go back to our room and continue this...conversation…there."

Wilson didn't need to have his arm twisted; he retrieved House's cane and handed it to him. He grasped House's hand in his and wove their fingers together, leading the way back to the hotel room.

**A/N: **For weeks now I haven't been able to reply to my reviews for any of my stories here on Fanfiction. I doo read them all and apprciate them very, very much. Please continue to review and hopefully FF will be able to straighten this out soon. Thanks:-D


	21. Chapter 21

**Title:** Held Hostage

**Author:** pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

Characters/Pairing: G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy, random characters from canon and OCs/House/Cuddy established; House/Wilson Pre-slash/slash.

**A/N:** Thank you to all of you who have so faithfully followed along with this fic and have commented. I have really been encouraged by your words.

Also, I want to give a big thank you to George Stark II for being my ever patient beta!

**Genre:** Drama/Romance.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story involves spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season Seven, Ep. Ten.

**Word Count:** ~5500

**Rating: M (NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, violence, drug and alcohol use, and explicit sexuality.

**Held Hostage**

Chapter Twenty-One

They had already begun undressing each other the moment they had stepped off of the elevator onto their floor. There was no one else in the corridor just then, but neither Wilson nor House would have cared if there had been. By the time Wilson fumbled with the key card to their room and opened the door both he and House had their button-downs unbuttoned. By the time they moved into the room, joined at the mouth and both pairs of hands working feverishly at the rest of their clothes, the button-downs were off and flung away in any which direction; there was no sign of Wilson's tie—which had probably been dropped and forsaken on the floor of the elevator car. Next on the list of removal were House's classic rock T and Wilson's white undershirt, and they were taken care of in that order, flung away as well.

House bit down on Wilson's carotid, bringing forth a moan that nearly drove the older man around the bend with desire. He alternated between sucking and biting on that spot, leaving a bruise to act as a brand of sorts, claiming Wilson as his and nobody else's from this point on. He wouldn't allow anyone to harm or steal anything or anyone that was his.

"You ass," Wilson chuckled softly. "I won't be able to hide that, you know."

House pulled his mouth away from Wilson's throat long enough to look at him and grin mischievously. "I know." he returned his mouth to Wilson's skin until he had the fly of the younger man's pants open. He growled hungrily, "You're mine and only mine forever. I'll never let you go."

House gave one good yank to pull Wilson's pants past his hips and ass and then they fell to pool around his ankles. Wilson struggled to kick his shoes off so he could kick the pants off as well. He was completely hard, now, his generously sized cock straining at the restriction of his cotton boxer-briefs. House took a moment to brush his hand over the mound in Wilson's underwear. A groan escaped Wilson's throat and his pelvis involuntarily thrust towards House's hand in search of more stimulation.

"Good," Wilson responded, breathing heavily. "I don't want to be anyone else's. Already tried that, but none of the others could fill that part of me that exists only for you."

Wilson felt himself being backed toward the bed and then was pushed lightly onto it by House, who grabbed his boxer-briefs and pulled them off. Wilson sat up and worked feverishly at House's jeans. In no time they both were completely nude and for a moment they paused to look at each other; this was another first in their relationship and they were both eager to drink it all in, every second of it, and commit it to memory.

"Come here," Wilson ordered, placing one hand at the back of House's neck and the other grabbing his best friend's shoulder, pulling him down on top of him as Wilson lay back and brought his mouth up to House's. They kissed with a desire and need that burned between them like a roaring fire until both had to come up for air.

The cobalt blue eyes he stared into stared back, smoldering with desire and filled with a love that Wilson couldn't remember seeing anywhere else before. Wilson grinned broadly, his free hand moving to cup House's cheek as his mouth moved in to crush House's again. He then moved said hand to help move himself and support more of his weight so that he was completely on top of House, while being mindful of his leg. He smiled against House's lips just before he ground his engorged cock against House's and gasped in delight. House ground back. It felt so incredibly good, so good in fact that he kept doing it and groaning each time in harmony with House's gasps and whimpers. Wilson wanted to explore every inch of House's body, map it out bit by bit, but that would have to wait for another time. Years of unresolved sexual tension refused to be denied or delayed. Both of them needed fulfillment and relief too desperately to take it slow.

Their bodies were slick with sweat now as their hands explored, kneaded, and caressed; all this time Wilson ground his pelvis against House's; the feeling of their cocks rubbing against each other was almost too incredible and Wilson felt himself coming ever closer to climax. He sensed that the same was true for House. As their excitement and pleasure built, their vocalizations and volume of said vocalizations increased.

As for House, all he wanted was to claim Wilson as his own, be the one to give him the most incredible orgasm of his life and never give him reason to seek out another partner again.

They were together as if one body in every way except the most important one. House knew that he was getting closer and closer to the point of no return and from the urgency with which Wilson kissed and ground against him he could tell he was, too.

"You feel so good," Wilson whispered against House's skin. "Oh god…I love you…I want you…I want you inside me."

"Mm, Jimmy…mmm…Oh fuck! Ah…have you…have you—?" House gasped. "Ever done that… oh, yesss...have you ever—?"

Wilson smirked and panted. "A long time ago. Have you?"

House was genuinely surprised to hear that but didn't take any time to dwell on it. He grinned. "Not technically…but I'm a quick study. Did you bring provisions?"

Sucking on the point of House's jaw, he pulled away long enough to answer, "You know me. I'm a regular fucking boy scout." He ground against House again, earning a gratifying groan. "Hold that thought, House," Wilson told him as he slid off of the older man and off the bed. He went to his suitcase, House glowering at him, wanting him back in bed immediately. He watched Wilson move, lusting after his body, admiring the musculature of his back and ass and then finding himself unable to look away from Wilson's impressively large cock, hard, erect, and flushed. It was no wonder his ex-wives had had nothing bad to say about his prowess between the sheets and now…now that was House's to enjoy, and if he had his way, no one else would ever have a turn at Wilson again.

Climbing back into bed, Wilson presented a tube of gel lubricant and two condoms. House helped Wilson roll on his and Wilson returned the favor, taking the time to suck a little on the head of House's penis, causing him to whine ever so slightly and thrust his hips involuntarily.

Wilson moved up to kiss House's mouth deeply and then practically purred, "Fuck me, House. Show me if you're as good as you boast you are!"

"I don't know," House growled almost ferally. "Are you...sure that's what…you want?"

Wilson nodded.

House gently but urgently pushed Wilson off of him. Wilson grabbed a pillow to place under his his hips and made to lie on his stomach.

"I want to see your face," House told him, suddenly serious. "I've longed for so long to see your face while I…make love…to you…"

Wilson grinned. "Make love, House? You really do love me, don't you?"

"Shut up," House told him but he was unable to hide a shy smile.

Wilson approached him for another passionate kiss before lying back facing House, who helped him position the pillow. Wilson's legs were parted and bent at the knee. House squeezed a generous amount of lube into his hand and then applied it to his lover's opening, tracing the ring with a fingertip a few times. Wilson's reaction was incredible; the look of gratification and desperation combined only made House harder if that was even possible.

After gently but methodically preparing Wilson's opening for intercourse, House slowly and gradually entered Wilson, who grimaced in discomfort initially but urged his partner to continue. Before long the muscles began to relax and he began to push against House's thrusts and hum. The sight of it alone was nearly enough to send House over the edge. Wilson hadn't lied; he'd done this before.

House had watched gay porn from time to time, always alone, out of curiosity at first. After the first time, he'd gone back because of the way it had turned him on to imagine that the writhing bodies on the screen were Wilson's and his. He'd gone so far as to buy toys to test out if he liked it and what worked the best, in the back of his mind hoping that someday he would be able to test out what he was learning with Wilson. Now it was finally coming true.

"I…I love you," the diagnostician whispered hesitantly, caught up in more emotion, raw and pure and powerful, than he ever had before with anyone else. House never said anything he didn't mean when it came to how he felt. He found it difficult to tell Wilson that he loved him even though it was true because of the way it left him emotionally vulnerable; but House knew that Wilson loved him, too. The oncologist had told him so, had shown it on numerous occasions by his actions, and that made it easier.

A moan of unadulterated ecstasy left House as he and Wilson found synchronicity in their movement, becoming as one. He couldn't believe how wonderful this felt! It was better than he had dreamed it would be. Wilson fit like a glove around House—so warm and tight and perfect! The oncologist was humming now with pleasure, overpowering any remaining pain he may have felt.

"Mmmngnh, more, Greg," Wilson murmured, his face alit with what House could only describe as bliss.

So House obliged, beginning to thrust faster. He experimented with shifting the angles of his thrusts until the head of his penis found the magic spot over Wilson's prostate gland, grazing it with every thrust thereafter. Wilson cried out loudly each time, which only spurred the older of the two of them on. The pleasure was so great that the diagnostician lost track of time and place, the complete focus of his mind and body on loving Wilson, giving him pleasure. He reveled in the knowledge that he was the one drawing the moans, gasps, and epithets out of the younger man's mouth. House swallowed some of them as he possessed Wilson's mouth again and again. His left leg was tiring, taking most of the burden to spare his right, but he knew he could last through it. Nothing else existed except for Wilson and him and their mutual delight.

As House neared his climax, he paid attention to cues from Wilson and could tell that he was nearing completion as well. By this time, House had already taken Wilson's swollen member into his fist and was stroking him in time with his thrusts, which were increasing in frequency the nearer he was to coming.

"Oh god…mm, oh Greg, yes…!"

House was muttering curses and affirmations and moaning and groaning as well. He couldn't hold back much longer, he just couldn't, he couldn't—!

Wilson shouted House's name along with gibberish as he came, ejaculating hard into his condom. Feeling the pulsation of Wilson's ejaculation in his hand, the contractions around House's cock, and the younger man's cries as he went over, House tipped over the edge as well, coming harder than he had since he was in his twenties.

As he came down from his orgasmic high, House realized that he was still lying pretty much on top of his best friend; if Wilson minded, he didn't show any indication of it. In fact, he had his arms wrapped around House so that if he wouldn't be able to roll off of him if he tried. So House relaxed with his head on Wilson's shoulder, his face facing the younger man's neck. He could see Wilson's pulse in his carotid artery as it slowed at about the same rate as his. Their breathing was just as synchronized, it seemed, as their lovemaking had been; their breaths were evening out, slowing, becoming as one. House enjoyed his friend's scent mixed with those of the sweat of sex and cum, the feel of Wilson's skin against him and the body heat they shared.

In that moment he wasn't only contented, but he was happy, genuinely happy, and couldn't help but grin. House pushed himself up onto the elbow that still made contact with the mattress and leaned in to kiss Wilson, enjoying the feel of his soft lips against his own. Wilson smiled and opened chocolate eyes to look up at him adoringly.

"I love you," Wilson whispered. "I can't believe it took us twenty goddamned years."

"Um hmm." House stared into his eyes and then kissed him again before rolling sideways onto his left side off of him. Wilson rolled onto his right side to face him, their legs still entwined. He combed his long fingers through Wilson's rich, silky brown hair. "I wanted you the night you presented the organ you'd bought for the loft...for me. I guess I knew then that you meant a lot more to me than just the guy I got drunk and ate pizza with."

"You only realized it then?"

"Well, there were times," House explained, "when I knew that I'd rather be dead than live without you in my life. There were other occasions when you would smell or look particularly good and I'd get a yearning that I tried to explain away as something else. I've never been very good at deluding myself, though; I'm better at lying to others." House smiled disarmingly.

"Keep doing that," Wilson told him, tracing House's lips with his fingers only to have them playfully nipped at. "Not the lying; keep smiling; it looks incredibly good on you."

"No guarantees," the diagnostician told him, "but if you keep up what you just did to me your chances at seeing more smiles vastly improves. Just don't expect me to smile in front of anyone else."

"I'm honored to be the recipient of such a rare treat," the younger man told him with a touch of humor.

House looked at him soberly. "You should be, Jimmy."

Wilson nodded. "I know. I'm very much aware of what gifts your trust and love are, Greg. I feel very special. Thank you."

Smiling again, softly, House kissed the end of Wilson's nose. "Thank you. Now, enough of this sappy crap! We sound like a couple of chicks!"

**~H/W~**

On their way back to Princeton two days later, they drove the Jaguar back to Atlanta and returned it to Roberta's and picked up the rental, which definitely felt like a step down in class. Wilson called the rental company and made arrangements to drop it off at their location at the airport; both he and House were relieved to find no police waiting for them there to take them into custody. He purchased two business class tickets on the next flight back to Trenton, knowing that House's leg had had its fill of being restricted in a car. Once they landed in New Jersey, they took a cab the rest of the way back to Princeton.

They spent that night at the loft. It was still cool enough in the evening to allow for a fire, so Wilson lit one in the fireplace. They sat on a blanket on the hardwood floor in front of the hearth, House leaning against the sofa for support and Wilson sitting between House's long legs, his back against the older man's chest and head on his shoulder. House had his arms wrapped possessively around his lover, burying his nose in Wilson's hair and inhaling deeply; god he loved how Wilson smelled!

In companionable silence, they watched the flames lick at the fresh log Wilson had just thrown onto the fire. It was the only source of light in the room. Occasionally there would be a snap as the pressure of the water vapor trapped in the wood fibers burst with force enough to split the log in small increments. Being on the top floor of the condo complex meant that they didn't have to listen to the sound of traffic passing by, since it was a several stories below them.

Neither one of them could keep his hands off of the other, it seemed, since their first lovemaking session. When alone, they cuddled and hugged a lot when not in the throes of sexual passion, although House fervently denied that he was a cuddler. In public, they still needed that physical contact and found themselves holding hands and when not doing that, one or both of them always had a hand on a shoulder or arm or small of the back, rubbing small, reassuring circles. When they weren't touching each other somehow, they appeared to be lost and out of sorts. It was so opposite to the way they had been with each other for so long a time, as if making up for all those years without touch.

Wilson caressed one of House's arms with his fingertips, causing goosebumps to appear on his flesh. "So, about what I asked you earlier," he said quietly to the diagnostician, "will you move back into the loft and rent out your place?"

"Mm," House responded, "No."

Wilson sighed, as if he had expected this answer. "Is moving in together too much too soon?"

"Too soon?" House echoed and then chuckled. "Jimmy, it's like we've been dating for twenty years. It's not too soon. Timing has nothing to do with it."

"So what does?" Wilson demanded, twisting a little to look at the older man. "I mean, we've proven that we can live in the same place and not kill each other."

House pecked him on the lips. "This is your place; it never was mine. My apartment is mine; it never was yours. If we're committing to each other, then I want to live with you somewhere which is our place from the very beginning."

Wilson stared at him, astounded, for several seconds before smiling softly and raising a hand to caress House's bristly cheek and gazing deeply into smiling blue eyes lit by the warm yellow glow of the fire.

"That's a great idea," he told House, nodding. "We'll start looking right away. But until we find a place and actually move in, will you stay here with me?"

"One condition," House told him, becoming somber.

"What's that?"

"We sleep in my old bedroom tonight and buy a new bed tomorrow," was the answer. "I'm not fucking you on the same bed where you screwed the Harpy."

"How do you know Sam and I didn't use that bed too?" Wilson asked him coyly, enjoying the look of horror filling his partner's eyes.

"You. Did. Not. Fuck. Her. On. My. Bed…?"

Wilson paused just a half-second longer that he naturally would have, before letting House off the hook. "Gotcha! Oh yeah, I got you good."

"Wipe that smirk off your face," House told him despite the smirk that was on his own. Wilson scrambled to his feet and then turned to face House in his boy-wonder pose, smiling smugly.

"Make me," he challenged the diagnostician, an impish gleam in his eyes. "That is, if you can make it to the bedroom before I lock the door."

"Sure, make a challenge requiring speed and agility with a cripple," House groused. "That's big of you, Jimmy."

Wilson began to saunter toward the bedrooms, saying tauntingly over his shoulder as House struggled to get to his feet using his cane and the sofa for support, "What was that, Greg? You were complimenting me on how big I am?"

"You've got a big ego, I'll give you that!" House retorted with a snort as he quickly limped after him. Amazingly, House managed to make it to the bedroom just in time, which saved him from having to break the door down. Despite having only one good leg, House managed to pounce on Wilson from behind and then push him onto the bed. Wilson wriggled out from beneath him and was ready to wrestle. He grabbed House with skill, rolling them over his lover's good leg until House was on his back with Wilson on top of him, looking down mischievously. Wilson's hand found the growing mound in House's pants and began to stroke it through the material.

"You were saying?" Wilson murmured, raising a bushy eyebrow.

"I…I don't remember," House answered, his breath catching with each stroke, staring at Wilson's lips and licking his own. "It was…a—a big something…"

Wilson grinned and lowered his face until their mouths joined. House kissed him eagerly, his eyes closing at the same time as his partner's, savoring the feel of his lips and tongue and the taste of him as well as the smell of his skin. He loved this man in his arms with everything he was and wished he could find the courage within himself to tell Wilson that. Instead, it was House's goal to show him every single day he managed not to fuck this relationship up, hopefully for the rest of his life.

A pounding on the front door interrupted that thought. Wilson pulled back, frowning.

"Were you expecting somebody?"

"Sh-yeah, right," House murmured. "Probably some Jesus-freaks with sodomy radar come to save our souls. Ignore it and they'll go away." He lifted his head up in an attempt to reach Wilson's lips, but the younger man pulled back out of his reach.

"I've got to at least see who it is," Wilson insisted, backing off the bed much to House's obvious displeasure.

"Seriously?" his partner objected in frustrated disbelief.

"I'll get rid of whoever it is as quickly as possible and then I'm all yours," Wilson assured him.

"You are anyway," House reminded him, pouting. "Hurry up!"

Wilson shook his head and hurried from the room, padding barefoot across the hardwood floor to the front door.

"Who is it?" He asked politely, wishing that he had a peephole built into the door. He decided that the place he and House would pick out together would have one.

"It's me, Wilson."

The voice was distinctly Cuddy's. He frowned, wondering what she was doing there at ten o'clock at night. Surely she didn't have Rachel out this late, did she? No, she would have a babysitter with Rachel right now—but it was still odd behavior for the Dean of Medicine. He suspected she wanted to get a jumpstart on killing both House and him. He really didn't want to do this now; he'd had himself psyched up to face it tomorrow, after a night of mind-blowing sex and sleeping in House's arms.

With a soft groan of dread, Wilson unlocked the door and slowly opened it. Cuddy stood there in a cashmere car coat over a simple white top and a pair of taupe slacks. Her hair had been swept back off of her face for convenience, not style, and she wore next to no makeup at all. She looked up at him long-faced and sad-eyed. As much as Wilson hated having hurt her he couldn't find it in himself to feel sorry for her. House was his now and he wasn't about to give him up without a fight, friendship or no friendship.

"Cuddy," Wilson said stiffly, his right hand going instinctively to the back of his neck, rubbing at the tension building there. "It's late."

She didn't back down. "I checked House's apartment but he wasn't there. I'm assuming he's here."

Nodding, Wilson answered, "Yes…yes he's in his old room, ready for bed."

"The three of us need to talk," she said tiredly.

"Tomorrow would be better," Wilson insisted, trying to remain polite, but feeling his frustration building. "Now's not a good time."

Cuddy sighed and pushed past Wilson as she marched into the foyer and then into the living area without invitation. Wilson shut the door a little more loudly than was necessary, especially at that time of night, and followed her. She stopped near the sofa and turned to face him.

"Please get House, or I'll go get him myself," she commanded calmly and Wilson couldn't get over how she thought she was in charge everywhere she went, not just at the hospital. This had been the way she had treated House throughout their relationship, one of the several behaviors toward the diagnostician that Wilson had hated the most.

"Cuddy, he's getting ready for bed," Wilson told her firmly. "He's exhausted. We both are—"

"Cut the crap, Wilson!" Cuddy snapped at him, her sadness quickly forsaken and replaced by anger. "Both of you betrayed me by your becoming a couple while he was still engaged to me. I've been humiliated in front of my colleagues, staff, family, and friends, and it took a great deal of restraint to keep myself from firing the both of you. I dropped the charges for House's sake, but now I expect some honest answers and I want them now!"

"You're not going to get them."

It was House who said that from where he stood just inside the living room after hearing the argument and coming to see what was going on. He leveled an icy glare on her. His shirt was already off but he still wore his jeans. "Not tonight. This isn't the hospital, Cuddy. You can't make orders and throw threats around to get your way here." He walked over to stand close enough to Wilson that the lengths of their arms were in contact. "We'll be in tomorrow morning, nine o'clock sharp at your office, to discuss this. And you didn't perform some magnanimous act by not firing us because we broke up. You couldn't do so over a personal matter; remember our trip to HR at the beginning of our little fiasco?"

Cuddy smirked. "What would you do, sue me?"

"Yes," House replied frankly. "And the hospital. So would Wilson. I don't think the board would be too thrilled about a lawsuit because of the Dean of Medicine's petty little attempt at revenge, do you?"

"Whoa," Wilson said, intervening. "Look, we're all adults. We don't need to blow things out of proportion and start a war. None of us want that. Lisa, I love Greg. I have for a long time, but I haven't allowed myself to accept that before now. Greg loves me. No one meant to hurt you like this, it just happened. I disliked what I saw taking place in your relationship with him; I thought you were treating him not only unfairly, but cruelly as well. I couldn't stand to watch him marry you when I knew it was a marriage that wouldn't last and the one left hurting the most when the dust settled would be Greg. I didn't know at the time that he had similar feelings for me as I have for him; I didn't learn that until later, after we were already on the road. Greg made his own decision whether or not to return and marry you, or be in a relationship with me."

"In case you haven't figured it out yet," House told her, incensed blue eyes flaring, "I picked hi_m_ because I've always loved him more, and because he _truly_ doesn't expect me to be someone I'm not. He _needs me_ as much as I need him; _you've_ never needed _anyone_." He wrapped his arm around Wilson's waist possessively and pulled him closer. "There, we've discussed the matter. Now leave. Jimmy and I were busy getting busy when you rudely showed up without calling first."

Cuddy shook her head, crossing her arms in front of her chest looking completely unconvinced. "I know that you two have always had a bond, but I'm having difficulty believing that you would go from straight to gay no matter how close you are. I'm not a homophobe, but I know the two of you—especially you, House. There's no way you're gay."

"I believe the term is bisexual," House said condescendingly. "I'm not certain, though. Maybe we should call Thirteen and find out?" He looked to Wilson; the younger man rolled his eyes and sighed silently. "Cuddy, aside from allowing you to watch us have sex—which I'm okay with, by the way, so long as you're naked too—there is no way to 'prove' it to you," House continued. "I don't know how you would classify our relationship but Jimmy and I are doing the mattress mambo and it's muy caliente. We are lovers—literally. That's not going to change. This is the happiness I've been hunting for; this is what has been missing from my life. Now that I've found it, there's no way in hell I'm giving it up."

"The same goes for me," Wilson told her simply, wrapping an arm around House. "I suppose I could try to prove our relationship to you like you did for me." He looked down pointedly at House's crotch and his half-hard cock beneath the clothing. "But I have too much class for that. I'd never demean House by treating him like a piece of meat."

The Dean's eyes narrowed resentfully at that comment; she stared at the both of them and slowly it appeared that she realized that they were, in fact, telling her the truth. This was real. That's when the hurt returned to her silver-grey eyes.

Cuddy swallowed hard and nodded. "I see," she said, her voice sounding a little strained. Otherwise, she managed to keep her composure quite well. "Well…I guess there's nothing more to be said." She turned and headed for the door. They followed her, but Wilson hung back in the doorway to the foyer while House stopped her at the door.

"I truly never wanted to hurt you," House told her softly, "but be honest, Cuddy—were you ever really satisfied with me or with the way things were between us? Were you happy with who I am, or didn't you think you could change me into a better man because I didn't measure up on my own? You told me from the start that you loved me but you wished you didn't. Maybe you deserve the person who will measure up to your expectations, and _I_ deserve to be with someone who loves me just as I am and doesn't regret it."

She said nothing to that. Instead she pulled off her engagement ring, stuffing it into House's hand and pecked him quickly on the cheek; then she turned on her heel and marched out of the loft apartment, not looking back. House watched her walk away for a while before closing the door and turning to face Wilson.

"Give her time," Wilson told him gently.

"She'll never forgive us," House informed him grimly.

"I know," Wilson acknowledged with a sigh. He wished they all could have remained friends but had known that it wouldn't be possible, at least, not for a long time. He regretted that part, but only that part of it all. He walked up to House and grabbed him by the hand; the ring fell to the hardwood and rolled away from them. "Come on. Let's get back to being busy getting busy." His full eyebrows wagged suggestively.

Grinning, a very eager House allowed Wilson to lead him back to the bedroom.

**~fin~**


End file.
